


Dream with Eyes Open

by KrisRix



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anxiety, Art, Childhood Trauma, Denial of Feelings, Depression, Dreams, Dreams and Nightmares, Dreams vs. Reality, Driving, Escapism, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Falling In Love, Fanart, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Hunters & Hunting, I dunno just... a lot happens in this, Idiots in Love, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kidnapping, Kissing, Kissing in the Rain, Loneliness, Love Confessions, M/M, Magickal Mishap, Mind Games, Music, Nightmares, Oblivious Simon Snow, POV Simon Snow, Pining, Pining Simon Snow, Plot Twists, Psychological Warfare, Sexual Tension, Sexuality Crisis, Simon is really into Baz being a vampire, Singing, Sleepiness, Some Plot, Spell Failure, Summer, Summer Vacation, Summer in the care home, Teen Angst, Touching, Trauma, WOW these tags sure are ominous huh?, Watford (Simon Snow), Watford Seventh Year, Wet Dream, but like also nothing happens in it?, enemies to idiots to lovers, going off, imhellakitty, it's about the yearning, my wonderful artist, thinly veiled metaphors, this sounds darker than it is i swear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:15:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 32,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26046367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KrisRix/pseuds/KrisRix
Summary: Simon is worried about what Baz might get up to all summer long without Simon there to keep an eye on him.Penny says, “You wage psychological warfare on yourself so much, Baz doesn’t have to plot anything. You do all the work for him.”Which is ridiculous.All Simon wants is to plague Baz with thoughts of him, give Baz a taste of his own medicine.All Simon wants is to be on Baz's mind so much, he can’t focus. Can’t work on coming up with a spell to end Simon. Can’t plot a political coup.All Simon wantsis for Baz to not get any fucking reprieve from Simon all summer.Is that too much to ask?But psychological warfare is a tricky thing...Merlin knows Simon's summers in the care home are awful as is. This year is made worse than usual thanks to the after-effects of a spell gone awry.The days are so hard, but the nights...?Well, the nights are something else entirely.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 315
Kudos: 765
Collections: Carry On Big Bang 2020, Simon saves Baz





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I owe my husband, [tbazzsnow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artescapri/pseuds/tbazzsnow), and [aralias](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aralias) my life. Without their support, this fic would have been abandoned several times over. They were incredible throughout the whole process, and they were wonderful betas, as well! Thank you!!! And a thank you to [names_for_dusk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/names_for_dusk) for the beta help, too, and for listening as I gabbed about this initial concept 🖤  
>    
> 
> 
> ✧☾✧  
> 
> 
>   
>  TREMENDOUS thanks to the supremely skilled [imhellakitty](http://imhellakitty.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr for her gorgeous art contribution and her truly unfathomable patience. She had to wait on my slow writing for aaaaages. The piece she drew is so stunning. I can't wait for you all to see it.

  
✧☾✧  
  


I wake up with the sun. 

Always do. Baz gives me a bollocksing for it—especially in the warmer months, like now, when the sun comes up earlier and earlier. _"They’re not serving food at five in the morning no matter how much you grovel, you incorrigible mutt,"_ he’ll gripe at me. Or any other thousands of variations of that. He never runs out. (It’d be impressive if he weren’t such an arse.) (Actually, it’s still impressive....)

Baz doesn’t get it. It’s not about the food. I don’t need to rush to get there first—I know that there will always be enough breakfast for me here at Watford. I’ve adapted to that just fine.

I _haven’t_ adapted to the idea of having a lie-in. At the boys’ homes, I wake up with the sun because odds are good someone else is doing the same. I’m uneasy with sleeping around other people, especially people who are _awake_. My summer nights are a lot of tossing and turning with very little sleeping, no matter how exhausted I am.

Sleeping next to Baz is easier. Which sounds mental—he’s a vampire, and he and his family have tried to kill me multiple times. I know that’s way worse than any of the stuff at the care homes, but I’ve got the Anathema to protect me here. And … Watford is my _home_.

I still wake up with the sun, though.

I wake up, and I stare at my threatening vampire roommate who isn’t much more than an arms’ reach away. Not so threatening all lit up with the sunrise and drooling on his pillow....

First thing I do every morning is disable the alarm clock. We keep it set to go off for the rare occasions where I accidentally sleep in. When I’m caught in a dream or something, I guess. It’s real disorienting to be shocked awake by the alarm blaring in our ears.

Baz absolutely _hates_ the bloody thing.

Sometimes I consider letting it go off just to startle him. I swear it makes his fangs pop. But I never go through with it. Starting the day with Baz at peak levels of tetchy knobhead is not a good idea.

Instead, I make sure I’m up before the alarm can go off, and then I find other ways to bother him awake. Like letting more light in, or opening the window, or banging around in my wardrobe, or (my favourite) knocking into his bed on my way to the toilet.

Not _every_ day, mind you. I let him sleep in sometimes.

But it’s more fun to torture him a bit.

It’s one of the things I really miss over the summers.

* * *

I flop back into the grass. It’s a warm day in May—the sun is bright, and there’s a faint breeze. Beautiful weather. The kind that makes me want to curl up under the yew trees. Should be right relaxing—Merlin knows I don’t get a lot of time to relax—but Penny’s been going non-stop since lunch. 

“It’s a big deal,” she insists. “It’s half of your final grade, Simon.”

“Pen,” I say, “needing to come up with a spell _next year_ is the _least_ of my worries right now.”

Penny screws up her nose at me. “All I’m saying is that it’s something you should start considering more seriously.”

“It’s a year away,” I groan. I close my eyes and tilt my face towards the sun, letting it burn spots behind my eyelids. “I’ve still got to make it through exams for _this_ year. And that’s if a goblin or the Humdrum or my roommate don’t get me first.”

Penny nudges me in the side with her knee. “I thought you said you’ve given up on preparing for exams this year?”

“I have,” I admit. “That doesn’t mean I want to start worrying about _next_ year’s instead. Besides, shouldn’t you be more focussed on this year’s exams, also?”

“I’ll be fine.” I can practically hear Penny’s dismissive hand waving. “The Mage hasn’t sent us on many missions this term, so I’ve had plenty of time to study.”

“Maybe you’ll beat Baz for top of the class this year,” I say, cracking open an eye to grin at her.

Penny huffs. It’s a sore spot. “If only Basil actually _was_ plotting half the time you say he is—surely his grades would be lower for it.”

“Ugh, don’t wish that on me!” I push myself up onto my elbows and scowl at her. “Who knows what sort of nefarious business he’s going to get up to all summer!”

“He’ll probably be working on his eighth-year spell,” Penny says, giving me a pointed look. “Just like you should do.”

“How am I going to do that in a care home, Pen?”

“Well ... you can at least start _thinking_ about it....”

I sit up fully. “I bet Baz’s spell will be something so he can bypass the Anathema.”

“That’s not possible, Simon.”

“I hope not. Him finally draining me in my sleep would be a mega anticlimactic way for things to shake out between us.”

Penny shoots me an unamused look. “Please promise me you won’t spend the summer obsessing over what Baz might be doing.”

“I don’t think about Watford over the summer, I’ve told you that.”

“Does that include not thinking about Baz?”

“More or less....” I feel flushed—too much sun. I hop to my feet.

Penny sighs. “Try to channel that focus into your spell work.”

“You sound like the Mage.”

“It’s true, though. If you put some of that energy into your studies—“

“—then maybe I could find a way to discover Baz’s plots once and for all!”

“You wage psychological warfare on yourself so much, Baz doesn’t have to plot anything. You do all the work for him.”

I blink. “That’s not true.”

Penny sighs and rolls her eyes. “If you say so.”

I thrust a hand at her and help her up. “Let’s go to tea.”

“Right, right.”

* * *

There are four weeks left until the end of the term, and I _do_ have exams and essays to focus on, but my mind is stuck on what Penny said about psychological warfare.

The point she was trying to make is bollocks. Still ...

Maybe that’s a good tactic. Maybe attacking Baz mentally is my best shot.

He’s the superior mage, that’s obvious. I _think_ I’d have him beat in a fight—especially if I can call my sword—but I’m not certain. He’s a vampire, after all. Who knows what kind of super-strength he has? He hides it so well.

Playing mind games isn’t my forte. (I’ve not got much of a forte—again, other than swords.) Baz is the one always skulking around, taunting me, saying cryptic things, shooting me amused glares across the dining hall like he’s the cat that swallowed the canary. He’s an expert in mind games, just like everything else.

Gotta fight fire with fire, right?

It’s always fire with Baz. And me too, really—I’m all smoke and explosions. Short of going off on him, I’m starting to wonder if my only other option is messing with his head as much as he messes with mine.

Penny thinks I’ve been spending time in the library studying for exams. In truth, I’m researching curses. Stuff that affects the mind, but isn’t permanent. Stuff that isn’t horrible and banned.

Not a lot of options. Every single one of these spells is overkill.

I don’t want to seriously fuck him up. That would be the lowest of the low. (I get nauseous at the thought.)

There are curses where he could hear me whispering in his head, or always see me in his peripheral vision, or catch sight of me in reflective surfaces. Right fucking creepy stuff. Too creepy. (Though I’m curious if Baz hasn’t cast some of these on me before—it’s definitely felt that way.)

All I want is to plague him with thoughts of me, give him a taste of his own medicine.

All I want is to be on his mind so much, he can’t focus. Can’t work on coming up with a spell to end me. Can’t plot a political coup. 

_All I want_ is for him to not get any fucking reprieve from me all summer.

Is that too much to ask?

* * *

I still haven’t found a spell to curse Baz with. Nothing I feel comfortable casting, anyway.

Maybe Penny was onto more than I realized—maybe I _do_ need to think about coming up with my own spell....

* * *

Exams have begun. And I’ve got an earworm. Which wouldn’t be so bad usually—sticky phrases like song lyrics are how spells get their strength, after all. Except I need to be focussed on running through maths equations and important historical dates and a whole mess of spells. Yet all that’s in my head is the potential of this song.

I should wait until right before Baz leaves at the end of the term. Cast it on him as he’s taking his morning shower, then bolt for a northbound train.

It’s eating at me.

I could cast it now, _tonight_. Then I’d get to see Baz’s reaction tomorrow morning. Surely he’ll have some sort of reaction. And then I could keep an eye on him for the next few days, see if it keeps working. I’m not sure how long the spell will last. I might need to refresh it before we go our separate ways (unless he somehow catches on and pulverises me).

Plus, if something goes awry ... well, better to find out right away. I might need to confess to the nurse or whoever if someone needs to counter-spell him.

I mean, it shouldn’t come to that. It shouldn’t be a _dangerous_ spell. 

Just—hopefully—a touch _unsettling_.

I wait up for Baz to come back from the Catacombs. I do some revising until I can’t see straight. I practice my sword work on his side of the room—I figure that will somehow summon him. (It doesn’t.) I eat his crisps. (That doesn’t summon him either.)

Once midnight comes around, I tuck my wand under my pillow and get in bed. It will be too suspicious if Baz returns to find me up this late. I chew on my cross and dig my nails into my palms and knuckles—anything to keep me awake.

The tosser slinks back in after Merlin knows how long.

No need to pinch myself now—I’m all adrenaline the second he comes into the room. It’s an effort not to fidget while I wait for him to finish his bedtime routine and fall asleep. I wait, and I _wait ..._ until I finally hear the soft, soft huffs of his shallow breathing which signal he’s sleeping.

I roll over to face Baz and point my wand in his direction. I’m always nervous to cast on someone else. Even Baz. I try to breathe calmly as I dip into the well of my magic in a way that feels cautious and measured.

_This isn’t to hurt. It’s just to make him uncomfortable. To tip the summer hols in my favour—_

I fight against the urge to tense as I whisper-sing the song lyric that has been stuck in my head all week:

_**“Dream a little dream of me.”** _

My magic sputters down my arm and out my wand in all directions. The whole room blooms with heat and smoke, and I’m _sure_ Baz will wake up.

He groans, and my heart leaps into my throat.

Then he rolls onto his stomach ... and is still.

After a long moment of listening to his soft, soft huffs, I finally exhale with relief.

That could have gone _so_ much worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're so inclined, check out the fic playlist: **[I linger till dawn, dear](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2c9tIcdLOrBW3oLCn9NrA5?si=nPTTOYVNS-mA0qaRghppbA)**  
>  Updating every 2 to 3 days 🖤


	2. Chapter 2

_My eyes were open. I didn’t remember opening them, they just were. I was staring across the small space between our beds. Baz’s eyes were open, as well—he was staring back._

_I thought I should feel nervous, though I didn’t remember why._

_Baz’s gaze was like nothing I’ve ever seen. It was stormy and soothing all at once, like a summer rain shower. He wasn’t saying anything and neither was I. We just stared._

_I think that went on for a long while. It’s hard to say. I wasn’t sure what time it was. If I thought about the amount of sunlight in the room, it changed—dark, bright, dusky—it never stayed the same. So I gave up on thinking about that._

_“What are you staring at?” Baz eventually asked. His voice was slow, smooth. It draped over me like a blanket._

_“What are_ you _staring at?” My voice was far softer than the way I usually speak to him._

_Baz smirked, and I got goosebumps. He was all languid with the way he sat up and dangled his legs over the side of his bed. I sat up too fast. Nervous. I was nervous. Why nervous? I didn’t remember._

_His eyes flicked to the base of my throat. I was shirtless—I’m often shirtless in the warmer months—but Baz was looking at me in a way he never has done before._

_Next thing I knew, he was standing over me, over my bed. His gaze was dark. Intimidating. Like a thunderstorm. He loomed, and my hand went to my—_

_My cross. My cross was gone._

_“Snow,” he rumbled._

_I couldn’t move. I couldn’t speak. I could only sit and stare up at him with my mouth hanging open, even as he got closer. The bed dipped under the weight of his knee, and he reached for me, and then—_

The aggressive beeping of our alarm clock wrenches me awake. My eyes snap open.

And there’s Baz, right across the way, shocked awake the same as me. I’m stunned.

“For snake’s sake,” Baz hisses, voice sharp and cruel. He launches an arm out—I panic, my hand flying up to grip my cross, but he only swats at the clock to silence it. “I’m going to throw that fucking thing into the moat,” he snarls, flipping onto his other side and yanking his blankets over his head, “and you’ll be next.”

“Sorry—” I blurt, my voice pitchy.

“Fuck off, Snow.”

Merlin. Baz always goes bonkers when he hears that alarm. I’ll probably face his wrath all day for this.

I stumble out of bed and go about getting ready. Even now, I’m sleepy and muddled as the rest of my brain struggles to come on-line. I feel like I was pulled out of a deep sleep.

Or out of a dream.

But I don’t remember what it was.

* * *

We’re halfway through lunch when I remember the spell. I nearly choke on my sandwich. Penny readies her ring finger for intervention—I wave her off.

_Shit_. I forgot to gauge Baz’s reaction this morning. I’ve no idea if the spell worked. I can’t oversleep again—I’ve got to pay attention to every detail come tomorrow.

I do a slapdash job of studying after class, only a touch more after dinner, and then I get into bed nice and early. I’m determined to get a good night’s rest.

✧☾✧

_I was running late to Magic Words. I didn’t remember the way. Every time I thought I took the correct turn, I found myself even more lost. Eventually, it was too stressful to continue. I was sweating and my magic was leaking._

_When I turned back, the front doors were right there, as if I had never ventured far at all. I barrelled through them and immediately found myself in our room atop Mummers._

_“Baz!”_

_His look of surprise quickly pinched into a frown when I slammed the door behind me. “Hullo, Snow.”_

_“What are you up to?”_

_Baz slid his violin off his shoulder and wielded the bow with a flourish. “I believe that’s obvious.”_

_“No,” I insisted, “you did something. I couldn’t get to class because of you, and I suddenly wound up here.”_

_“Maybe this is where you wanted to be,” he drawled as he flicked my tie with the violin bow. Heat rose to my face._

_“Don’t do that.” I stepped back and smoothed down my tie. “Go away!”_

_Baz encroached on me, smirking, pressing the tip of the bow to the centre of my chest. “This is my room as well. And while you’re in my space, I think I’ll bother you as much as I’d like.”_

_“Fuck off! L-leave me alone!” I slapped the bow out of Baz’s hand. (I never heard it hit the ground.) Then it was his hand reaching for me instead._

_“Or what, Snow?” Baz’s fingers trailed up the length of my tie. “You’ll sputter?” His thumb swept across the tie’s knot. “Hit me?” He applied pressure, pushing the knot up into the hollow of my throat. “Pin me to the ground?”_

_I was frozen. Why was I letting him do this? Why was I letting him—_

_“Don’t touch me!”_

_Baz was so close, I could feel his breath as he whispered, “Make me.”_

✧☾✧

The alarm is screeching—I’m bleary and dream-drunk—and then Baz throws the clock across the room, which is when I jolt fully awake.

“Fucking hell!” I yelp. “You’re mental!”

We’re both sitting up and breathing hard, staring at the scattered pieces of the digital clock littering the floor. Baz groans and flops himself down onto his belly, yanking his blankets over his head just like yesterday.

Yesterday—

_The spell!_

I gawk at him. Did he dream of me? Is that why he’s so agitated this morning? No, he thoroughly hates that clock—I’ve lost count of how many times he’s broken it and spelled it back together.

Tomorrow’s Saturday, thankfully. We won’t have to set the alarm. I’ll wake up whenever I feel like and see what sort of mood Baz is in.

Yeah. I’ll get my answer tomorrow.

Meanwhile, all day long I struggle to shake the feeling that I had an unsettling dream last night—which isn’t unusual. I’m well practised in not thinking about my dreams once they’ve passed. This one’s more persistent, though.

Despite it bothering me all day, I’m never able to recall what the dream was about. 

✧☾✧

_I was curled up in a sunbeam under the yew trees._

_Penny had been with me a minute ago. Agatha had been with us a while before that. She had broken up with me, but that was fine because Agatha is always breaking up with me. And then Penny had talked to me about something else because Penny is always trying to talk to me about something other than Agatha or Baz._

_I was alone now. Curled up and relaxed. The sun was setting, so maybe I had been there a long time. I was still comfortably warmed even though the sun had moved on. Not too hot, not too cold, not too bright, not too dark. Just lovely._

_All of it was lovely. Peaceful._

_Though ... a little lonely._

_I blinked so slowly that I fell asleep for a while in the middle there. When I opened my eyes again, Baz was sitting next to me. I blinked at normal speed and he was still there, gleaming in the moonlight._

_“Have a nice nap?” he asked me. His voice was velvet. I closed my eyes again._

_“What do you care?” I grumbled. “Don’t watch me sleep, you freak.”_

_Silence._

_I wondered if he was gone. All I saw was darkness. I felt warmth and the rustle of leaves, and I smelt cedar and bergamot. The more I thought about it, the stronger the smell got. He must have still been there. I wondered why. I wondered what he was thinking._

_For a moment, I thought the breeze had kicked up because my hair was getting ruffled._

_I stared wide-eyed up at Baz as he fixated on the movement of his hand in my curls._

_“You’re touching my hair,” I said._

_“I am.”_

_“Why?”_

_“I want to.”_

_As if that was a good answer._

_I closed my eyes. Baz kept petting through my hair._

_Maybe it_ was _a good answer..._

_Or it was a trap. Much more likely._

_He could lull me to sleep, then snap my neck. There was no Anathema to protect me out here. There was no one around. Everyone had left. Agatha had left, Penny had left. There were no students. Even the sun had gone down. Nothing, there was nothing, just the darkness behind my eyes. Just me and Baz—just me and a_ vampire _—and I was letting him touch my hair._

_I couldn’t smell Baz any more—all I smelt was smoke._

_My smoke._

_I blinked, and I was on my feet—we both were, standing together on the ramparts. The merwolves were gnashing their teeth in the inky moat so many metres below us, but the sound was loud enough to be deafening._

_Baz hates the merwolves. He threatens them constantly—almost as much as he threatens me. Was that his plot? Provoke me to the brink, then push me into their eager mouths the moment before I go off? They could end me, or I could end them—either way, Baz would win._

_“Why are you always such a villain?” I yelled. “Why do you always have to threaten me?”_

_“I haven’t done anything,” Baz growled. Somehow, his voice carried over the din of splashing fins and clacking jaws._

_I lunged, grabbing him by his lapels. I was nearly choking on my magic—I was shimmering with it, lighting us up despite the sunless sky. “Don’t you ever touch me again, you hear me?”_

_The venomous curve of Baz’s lip was far more intimidating than any merwolf threat. He sneered at my fists mucking up his jacket. “_ You’re _touching_ me _, Snow.”_

_I shoved him back, hard. Too hard. Baz reached out to steady himself against the parapet, but—_

“No!”

I stare into the darkness of my room— _our_ room—with my breath caught in my throat. Then, I hear Baz’s muffled complaint as he shoves his face into his pillow. All my air rushes out of me.

He’s only a lump in the darkness. I watch him anyway. I breathe heavily, waiting for my adrenaline and magic to fizzle out.

“Stop that,” Baz gripes into his pillow.

“Wh-what?”

“Stop yelling and breathing like a bull.” Baz manages to sound both exhausted and menacing. It’s familiar.

I collapse back into bed. I close my eyes. I calm my magic. I breathe. And I listen to Baz breathe.

Soft, soft huffs....

* * *

Penny doesn’t stay for breakfast—she wants to get to the library right away. The dining hall is fairly empty on Saturday mornings as is, even more so during exams. I gaze across the vacant spaces and watch as Baz sips tea and chats with his mates.

Baz was perfectly normal this morning. He didn’t seem like he had weird dreams at all.

In fact ... it seems like the only one who had a weird dream was _me._

Penny’s not here to offer assistance when I choke on my breakfast this time. I cough and beat my chest until I feel better, and when I look over my shoulder at Baz, he’s watching me with an eyebrow raised. I jerk back around.

_Fuck_. Fucking _hells and horrors_.

I messed up the spell.

Of _course_ I messed up the spell! Of _course_ I somehow cursed _myself_ with dreams of Baz, not the other way around!

I drop my head in my hands and groan.

I’m so completely fucked.


	3. Chapter 3

Exams are a disaster. I’m scared to sleep, scared to dream. Scared of the memories from my weird Baz-dreams that haunt me throughout the day, of the sudden flashes of remembrance I get at the most random times.

I’m staring right through my Political Science exam. I can’t focus for shit. All I can think of is the predatory look in Baz’s eyes from my dream last night. How he tried to corner me in the library while I was studying. How, when he got too close, I punched him. His lip bled and bled. And he _laughed_.

The sound is ringing in my ears throughout the whole exam. I’m so fucking agitated by it that my magic kicks up to the point where the professor has to ask me to leave. That was the one class I thought I’d do well in.

I stalk around the Wavering Wood, swinging my sword until I’m too exhausted to continue. That’s the way this whole past week has gone: freak out about my curse, flunk an exam, and flail about in the woods.

How stupid. How miserable!

I can’t even take it out on Baz this time. As much as I would love to actually punch him until I feel better, I know it wouldn’t help (even if he _didn’t_ laugh in that way that made me feel like I was boiling alive). I did this to myself. The only thing I can do is wait it out.

* * *

“What’s going on with you?” That’s what Penny’s been greeting me with these past few days, and today’s no different.

I look down at my scone. She warmed it up a moment ago, and it’s still gently steaming. I haven’t bothered to butter it yet.

Penny’s going to be so disappointed in me ... but there are only two days left in the term, and if there’s any chance of her being able to break this curse for me—

Baz walks past us with his mates, talking about summer plans. The sound of his voice makes me tense as I’m hit with a jarring flashback of last night’s dream:

_Baz was seated in one of the cosy library chairs, his nose in a book. I flopped down in the one next to him._

_“What are you doing?” I asked. “Plotting?”_

_“Reading. Obviously.”_

_“What are you reading?”_

_Baz showed me the book. All the text kept wriggling around. I scowled at him, and he breathed out a laugh._

_“It doesn’t matter; you wouldn’t be interested, Snow.”_

_“Yeah? Try me.”_

_He read to me. I don’t remember what the book was about. It didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was the satiny rumble of Baz’s voice melting me down until I was nothing._

Penny gives me a troubled frown. “Simon...?”

I shake my head clear and butter my scone. “Please don’t give me an earful about this,” is what I start with. “I’m already plenty upset with myself.”

Penny sighs, then reaches across the table to pat my arm. “You know I can’t promise that.”

* * *

Penny _does_ give me an earful.

“You should have told me earlier! How are we supposed to create a counter-spell to something you made up in only _two days_? Nicks and Slick, Simon, _you made a new spell!_ And you can’t even take credit for it because the moral grey zone for mind-altering spells is _very_ grey. I need you to write down everything; we need to document this, even if we can never attach our names to it. This is _so exciting_. I’m really disappointed you didn’t run this by me first, because casting that on Baz was an awful idea, and you _probably_ deserved it backfiring, but _fuck me_ , this is _exciting_!”

I follow her around the library like a kicked puppy, listening to her ramble, and I avoid the cosy chairs at all costs.

* * *

We don’t figure out a counter-spell in time.

It’s our last dinner together before the hols. Penny instructs me to keep notes over the summer, though I can’t imagine what those would be. Somehow I don’t think _‘I cornered dream-Baz in the stacks, and he whispered threats in my ear, and for some reason, my knees went weak’_ is going to help the scholarly advancement of magic.

Agatha hasn’t been sitting with us at meals lately. She started withdrawing more and more as exams ramped up. Honestly, I’ve barely noticed, given everything I’m going through. She comes up to us after dinner, though, and asks me to walk her to the Cloisters.

Then she dumps me.

“It seems silly to continue on with it,” she says. “We’ve barely spoken this past month—”

“We’ve been busy,” I say.

“—and we’re about to spend all summer not speaking—”

“You know that’s not my choice,” I say.

“—so I think we’d both be happier with the freedom, Simon.”

_“But Agatha, you’re my girl.” We were standing in the Wavering Wood, her hands in mine—she pulled them free._

_“I’m Baz’s girl now,” she said._

_“That doesn’t make sense. You can’t be Baz’s girl.”_

_Agatha stepped away, and there he was: Baz materialized at her back, circling his arms around her waist._

_“What’s wrong, Snow?” Baz jeered. “Are you jealous?”_

_“Don’t touch her!” I roared._

_Agatha leant back against him. He brushed her long hair aside to expose her neck. “Don’t worry,” he said close to her ear, his eyes locked to mine. “I won’t hurt her … unless she requests it.”_

_I dove for them, but I found myself swiping at air. They were behind me suddenly, laughing together._

_“You don’t need to be jealous, Simon,” Agatha giggled._

_Baz smirked. “That’s right. Why not join us, Snow?” He pulled Agatha tighter to him, her back flat against his chest. She arched into it. Baz licked his lips. I could feel myself getting hot all over, my magic kicking up. “You can be next,” he purred._

Agatha heaves a sigh, knocking me from my disturbing reverie. “See?” she says. “You’re already off somewhere else.”

“N-no, wait, I’m not—” I try to snatch up her hand, but she steps back. “Agatha— But we— You’re my girl.”

She shakes her head, her hair swooshing. “I’m not anyone’s girl, Simon.”

* * *

I ride the train to Liverpool, my freshly-shaved head pressed against the window, and I feel a bit sorry for myself.

Thank Merlin and magic and God that one good thing happened this morning—my one consolation in this entire fucking mess.

I was dreaming about Baz, such is my curse. Agatha had been there again, also. She had slid her hands out of my hair and down my neck. I couldn’t move—I couldn’t look away from Baz. As he watched, she had opened my collar, removed my cross, and angled my head. Baz had leant in, and I could feel his breath on my throat—

“Wait!” I shouted myself awake, scrabbling upright and panting.

Baz snarled and smothered his face with his pillow. He hurled a bunch of obscenities at me, but I couldn’t make any of them out, all muffled like that.

“What’s wrong?” I snapped at him. I was so fucking fed up with this, and him being a brat about being woken up was even more infuriating. “Did I interrupt a good dream?”

Baz lifted his head to give me a look that could kill. “Actually, Snow, it was an awful dream because _you_ were in it,” he snarled. “Having you haunt my dreams _and_ my every waking moment adds insult to injury, so kindly fuck off and die.”

I tried to reign in my reaction, but I could feel my eyes getting wider and wider. “I haunt your dreams, do I?”

“Nightmares, more like,” Baz said with a shitty grimace. “I keep trying to kill you, but you just _won’t_ stay dead.”

“How—how long have I been haunting your dreams?” I sounded way too eager.

Baz’s eyes slowly narrowed. “ _Why_?” he asked, taking his time to draw it out.

“N-no reason, just curious.” I fumbled out of bed and started snatching up my things. “Would you say it’s been, like, always? Or the past year? Or the past, I don’t know, two weeks...?”

Baz sat up. I could feel his suspicious glare track me as I moved through my side of the room. “ _Snow_ ,” he growled, drawing those sounds out even slower. “What. Did. You. _Do_?”

I avoided his wrath by grabbing my duffel bag and dashing out of there as quick as I could. He couldn’t hurt me in the room, and he certainly wouldn’t come after me while still in his pyjamas.

And now I’m on a train, safely out of his reach.

I might have to spend the whole summer tortured with weird dreams about Baz that make no sense, but it sounds like he’s also going to be tortured by dreams of me. I hope I’m as much a menace in his dreams as he is in mine.

At least this means I didn’t _completely_ fuck up the spell.

Almost makes it all worth it.

* * *

The first night of the summer holidays is rougher than I ever remember it to be. Starting the day at Watford—at my favourite place in the world—and ending it in a foreign room that feels like a prison cell is a hell of a mindfuck. Plus, it’s exhausting. All the travelling, the orientation, getting introduced to the staff and the other boys—it takes a lot out of me.

By the time dinner comes around, I’m so done in, I barely have an appetite. I’m bordering on having a meltdown if one more person tries to talk to me, so I retire early, eager to hole up in my new room for the night. I keep my trackie bottoms on (I don’t wear pyjamas in the homes), and I strip off my shirt because I’ve sweated through it. I pull on a fresh T-shirt and tug the neck of it up to my nose. It smells comforting. Like home.

_Don’t think about home. Don’t think about Watford._

I lie on my back, the rickety bed creaking under me, and I gaze up at the unfamiliar ceiling.

I tuck all my thoughts about the entire World of Mages away. They’ll be there for me soon. Two and a half months. That’s all.

_Don’t think._

I tramp down the loneliness and close my eyes.

✧☾✧

_Baz had me trapped against the wall of the stairwell. The rough stone scraped at my back as he pushed his forearm harder across my collarbone. His outraged face filled my vision._

_“What. Did. You. Do?” he barked, spittle flying._

_I struggled uselessly. “What are you talking about?”_

_“Don’t play dumb!”_

_“I’m not!” It was true—I didn’t remember how we got here. “Let go of me, Baz!’_

_He shoved me for good measure, then backed off. He looked no less furious. “You cursed me,” he spat._

_I stared at him and tried to remember. I blinked. The Watford uniform Baz was wearing was replaced by his posh pyjamas. I remembered._

_“I did,” I confessed with a grin. “You’re going to spend your entire summer plagued with dreams of me.” My grin widened. “I don’t care how many different ways you dream up killing me. By the time I see you again, you’ll be a mess.”_

_Baz’s face fell. “And what about you, Snow?” His voice was softer now. Wounded, even. “What will_ you _spend your summer dreaming about?”_

_I was in my pyjamas, also—Watford-issued bottoms and a ratty T-shirt. The short sleeves weren’t offering much protection against the biting cold suddenly surrounding us. We had been transported to the ramparts, with icier and icier winds kicking up._

_“Baz, wait—” I was buffeted by the wind as I tried to step towards him. The way he was leaning against the parapet made me nervous. So nervous. Why nervous? I didn’t remember—_

_“You haven’t answered me,” Baz murmured, voice somehow carrying over the howling air and my pounding heart. “What will you spend your summer dreaming about?”_

_“I’ll be dreaming of_ you _,” I shouted, still struggling to get to him. We were only a few steps apart, but he felt worlds away._

_At that, Baz smiled ruefully. “Me...,” he sighed._

_The winds died out. Their noise was replaced by the rumble of rain clouds up above. Baz hung his head back, leaning more heavily against the stonework. He gazed up at the sky as rain began to pitter down._

_With the wind no longer blocking me, I tried to reach for him again. This time it was his voice that stopped me: “What kind of dreams will you be having about me, Simon Snow?”_

_His chin was tilted towards the sky. The moonlight was faint through the clouds, casting everything in a gauzy glow. Rain rolled down his pale neck and water soaked through his silk pyjamas._

_I didn’t know what to say._


	4. Chapter 4

My days are spent the same at this home as all the others. Normals never want anything to do with me, so I stay out of the way whenever I can. I don’t eat as much as I could, because I can’t handle being around them for long enough. I get in and out of the kitchen as fast as possible. I eat in my room and sneak small things into my duffel bag for later, like apples or crisps. I’m not sure if I’m allowed to hoard food—or anything, really. I’m definitely not about to ask.

In the mornings, we do chores. The tasks are supposed to be on rotation. I’m new, so the other boys—four of them—try to pass their responsibilities off on me. I could make a fuss if I wanted, but it’s not worth it. Gives me something to do.

After the chores are done, I go outside, sitting on the kerb or going on walks. I hit up the Tesco Express every day just to cool off and kill time. I don’t buy anything—I like to save the small allowance we get. Just in case.

Going out is a fucking headache because my carer always asks a million questions, even though I’m technically allowed to come and go as I please so long as I respect curfew. I hate when the staff buzz around me like flies, but I’d much rather answer their dumb questions than stay and let the walls close in on me. Getting out and about is a good distraction—if I keep moving, the dreams don’t catch up to me as easily.

I’d thought maybe being away from Watford would make it all easier. That the spell would weaken, now that I’m further from Baz. Even with me all the way up north and him down south in Hampshire, it hasn’t weakened at all. I’ve dreamt of him _every night_ this week. Multiple times!

I’m exhausted but too strung out to sleep. I’ve already got plenty of things over the summers to keep me awake at night. I’m worried I’ll go off in my sleep. I’m worried the big kid who’s always got his eye on me is gonna break into my room while I’m not on guard. (I slide the small dresser in front of the door each night to be safe.) I’m also worried something awful is going to go down in one of the other rooms while they figure no one’s listening.

Plus, this year I’ve got the added worry of dreaming of Baz. 

I mega fucked up this time.

It’s not surprising for boys to need to change their sheets before laundry day. Usually, it’s because they had a ... _good_ dream. Not because they keep waking up terrified and confused, drenched in sweat.

I’ve had nightmares my whole life—about fire, or being hungry, or losing my magic, or fighting dark creatures, or, or, or. I’ve had nightmares about Baz plenty, as well.

None like _this_.

These dreams are just … _so much_. The sounds are intense, the sensations are wicked powerful. I wake up feeling like I’ve been put through the wringer, even when nothing all that bad happens. I wake up so fucking _tired_.

It’d be so much easier if Baz was properly attacking me or something. If anything, the dreams have been getting less antagonistic. Sometimes, he’s _helping_ me. Which is way worse.

The one from last night has been weighing on me all day…

_I was in class, spilling out so much magic, Miss Possibelf kicked me out. I stood in the hallway, panicking._

_“What’s all this about, then?” came Baz’s voice from behind me._

_I frowned at him. “Why aren’t you in class?”_

_“This is more entertaining.”_

_I growled. I wanted to punch him, but my right hand was weighed down by something and Baz is too good at blocking my left. I looked down at what I was holding. It was a violin case._

_“I’ve got a music exam later,” I said, though the thought had just occurred to me._

_Baz lifted an eyebrow. “And?”_

_“And I’m not prepared!”_

_“Shouldn’t you be used to that by now?”_

_I stomped my foot, and my magic rippled off in a thick wave. Baz just rolled his eyes._

_“I believe the solution is obvious,” Baz drawled, lifting his own violin case. “We should practice together.”_

_“Why are you helping me...?”_

_“Because I can’t bear to let you butcher Tchaikovsky.”_

_Baz turned on his heel and strode off. All I could do was follow him. He flung open a door, and there we were in the practice room. I set down my violin case and glared at the bloody thing._

_“Let’s hear it, Snow.”_

_I took the violin out and held it to my chin. Immediately, Baz had something to complain about._

_“You’re holding it wrong,” he tsked. Baz came up behind me, his long fingers curling over my wrists. I tensed._

_“Don’t touch me—“_

_“I have to adjust your hold.” His voice was so close to my ear. “Don’t you want a passing mark?”_

_“Y-yeah....”_

_Baz guided my arms into the correct position. Then he swept his cool touch up my bow arm, over my shoulder, up my neck.... I shivered. His fingers found my jaw, and he adjusted my chin against the violin._

_“Hold it like that,” Baz murmured. He withdrew his hands but stayed close. “Try it.”_

_I dragged the bow across the strings. No sound came out. Baz passed his hand over my wrist again, and I startled, jerking away. He stepped back with a sigh._

_“I’m trying to help,” Baz said._

_“R-right.” I was tingly all over. His touch always makes my skin crawl. I needed the help, though. “Go ahead.”_

_Baz settled behind me once more, draping his right arm over mine to correct my hold on the bow._

_“There.”_

_This time, I drew a screech from the violin instead. He chuckled, and I could feel the reverberation through my spine._

_“Let me show you,” Baz said as he slowly dragged my bow arm back with the right amount of pressure, eliciting a beautiful tone from the violin. He urged my arm forwards next, though this note was less successful. “Relax. Don’t resist me.”_

_“I have to.”_

_“Do you?” Baz shifted his hold and coaxed another rich note from the violin with my arm. “See? Isn’t it so much better when you don’t?”_

_I couldn’t argue with that._

_“So … now what…?”_

_Baz’s nose brushed against the shell of my ear, and he hummed a note lovelier than any concerto. “Now ... we make music.”_

_And somehow, we did. Baz directed my arm and pressed his fingers over mine against the strings. He used me like an amplifier, sending his directions through my body to release the music. The more I relinquished control, the lusher the music grew._

_I leant back, pressing my shoulder blades to his chest. I melted against him, and the music sweetened._

I woke up with the fucking song still booming through my head. All day, I keep finding myself trying to recapture it, but I lose more of the melody with each passing hour. It must’ve been something I’ve heard Baz play in the practice room before.

Stupid thing to fixate on.

But what else have I got to do?

That’s the real problem, innit? Other than chores and avoiding eye contact, I have nothing to do except stew over the dream I had the night before.

So that’s exactly what I do the whole first week of the summer hols. I prowl around in the unreasonable heat, dipping in and out of shops to cool down until I start getting weird looks, and I desperately try not to think of whatever ridiculous fucking dreams my twat nemesis starred in recently.

It’s a bloody long week.

✧☾✧

_I found myself under the yew trees at sunset, with Baz’s hand petting through my hair. I stared up at him. It felt like déjà vu, but I didn’t remember why._

_“You’re touching my hair,” I said._

_“I am,” he said._

_“You shouldn’t be touching me.”_

_His hand stilled. The sun set too fast. I felt something cold settle in my stomach. “I could stop,” he said slowly. “Would that make you happy?”_

_I closed my eyes._

_A long time passed._

_I didn’t know what to say._

✧☾✧

I swear to magic, I can feel the ghost of Baz’s fingers in my hair for the rest of the day. The faintest breeze makes my skin hot.

During my orientation, my carer mentioned something about a pass to the nearby pool. Soaking in communal chlorine with a bunch of strangers and screaming kids and perverts is not my idea of a good time. But I’ll take all the distraction I can get.

✧☾✧

_I had been doing something else. Fighting something, saving Watford from a dark creature attack. After, there was just calm. I was in the middle of the Wavering Wood, breathless, holding my sword, and the air was still._

_I’m never sure what to do when there’s nothing to fight._

_There was birdsong. There was a cool breeze. I breathed, and I strained for some sort of hint about what to do next._

_There: a rustling. I moved towards it, and it moved towards me, too. And then: a figure._

_“Baz!” I yelled as he came through the brush. I readied my sword and spread my feet. “What are you doing here?”_

_He was completely nonplussed. Baz kept walking towards me, stopping only once my sword was less than a centimetre from his chest. He stared me down, saying nothing. Whenever one of us breathed in, the tip of my sword bumped him just slightly._

_“What are you doing?” I asked again. I didn’t sound menacing at all._

_“I could ask you the same thing,” Baz murmured. He nudged forward against my sword. “Out slaying dark creatures?”_

_“Of,”—my voice broke, so I tried again—“of course.”_

_“Me next, then?” Baz shouldn’t have sounded so welcoming when saying that sort of thing._

_“That depends.” I drew myself up to my full height so he couldn’t look down on me as much. “Are you admitting you’re a dark creature?”_

_Baz’s lips curled and his eyes narrowed. He looked right dangerous, even though I was the one holding a weapon to his chest. “Would that make you happy, Snow?”_

_When he pushed further against my sword, I pulled my shoulder blades together to create more space between us. I felt something behind me—a tree. It hadn’t been there before._

_I couldn’t help but watch his mouth. “Maybe,” I said._

_“Why?” Baz leant in so much, I had to flatten my sword completely between our bodies. “That desperate to rid the world of me?” He ran his tongue along the point of a sharp canine. I shivered. “Or is it something else?”_

_“Like ... like what...?” I felt tongue-tied, stupid. Baz has always made my brain short-circuit. I watched him prod his tooth, and I was dizzied with the realization that he truly might have fangs, that he might_ show _me—_

_Then he was so close, I couldn’t see his mouth at all. He was so close, all I could see was his smouldering gaze, and all I could feel was his breath on my face._

_He was so close, I wasn’t sure where my sword went._

_Maybe I wouldn’t need to_ see _his fangs for proof. Not when I could prod his teeth with my own tongue instead …_

I jolt awake, heated all the way through, coated in sweat.

_What the fuck—_

My edges are blurring.

Frantic, I peel off my shirt and shove my feet into my trainers. I’m still yanking a fresh T-shirt over my head as I burst out of my room towards the back of the home. I rush into the garden, only stopping once I hit the fence lining the property.

I hang my head and press my hands to my knees. It’s hard to breathe. Harder the more I think about it. The air is so hot and so dry and—

“All right, Simon?”

It’s one of the staff calling out to me from the back door. She’s this middle-aged lady with a very normal name that I can’t recall, which makes me feel like a tit. She seems nice enough—least I could do is remember her name….

“Yeah, fine,” I call back, too sharp.

I hear her step closer. “I want to remind you there’s no smoking here,” she says calmly.

Smoking? Fuck. I scrub my hands over my face then turn her way enough to show that I don’t have a cigarette. “M’not,” I mumble. I fixate past her shoulder on the patchy gravel walkway that leads around the side of the building.

“Oh, good. How about you come inside and I make us a cuppa?” Mary (pretty sure it’s Mary) keeps talking in this soothing way, like I’ll bolt if she doesn’t. Which I might do anyway.

“N … no, thanks.”

Her guard is up as she slides her gaze around the yard. Searching out where the smoke is coming from, I figure. Makes my stomach clench. Makes the scent worse.

I’m “at risk”. That’s what my files say. A high-risk child. Not high enough that they put me in a secure unit, thank magic, but I know they’ve always got an eye on me. Waiting for me to go round the bend and burn another care home to the ground.

My eyes sting. There’s sweat running down my back. My mouth tastes like brimstone.

“Too hot for tea, isn’t it? It’s already a scorcher out here,” Mary says. She tilts her head, trying to catch my eye. Probably smiling in that way they all start off doing before they realize I’m too much of a piece of work for them to bother with. So long as I don’t hurt anyone, what do they care? I’ll be gone in a few weeks, then they’ll never have to see me again. “Let’s go in where it’s cooler.”

“M’going for a walk,” I blurt.

I side-step Mary and am legging it along the pathway and onto the street before she can stop me. I’m not supposed to leave yet—mornings are for chores and all that rot—but she can’t actually hold me here against my will. 

Doesn’t mean I can avoid the home for long, though. I used to have to wear an electronic tag—like a fucking dog. Can’t have the unhinged pyromaniac kid roaming the streets, after all. Not had to wear it since I turned sixteen, but even so, if I don’t show back up by curfew, they’ll call the Mage.

I can’t disappoint him like that.

I’ll go back soon. Mary’s right—it’s too fucking hot to stay out here for long. I just … need to rid myself of these thoughts first. Let the sun bake me clean, like when a fever cooks you until all the bad stuff is gone.

I walk and I walk until that dry, prickling feeling fades away.

Then I go back.

* * *

Even though I’m exhausted to the core, I can’t fall asleep. I refuse to think about why.

I do, at some point. I don’t remember the dream in any detail. I make no attempt to think back on it. I don’t need to know—I don’t _want_ to know.

My sheets are soaked with sweat. I strip my bed for the second day in a row. It’s easy to ignore the boner I wake up with. That’s normal, happens to everyone. Maybe I had a nice dream about Agatha or something.

I don’t think about it.

I do the laundry. I bake my brain in the prickling heat. I go for a swim when it gets to be too much. I keep my eyes peeled for goblins or whatever else. I never let my guard down. And I don’t think about Baz.

✧☾✧

_Fading eyes._

_Heat._

_Bleeding._

_Fire._

_So much fire._

_My sword, in his stomach._

_His knuckles, stroking my cheek._

_Pleading: no, no, no._

_Assuring: it’s all right, love._

_Begging: stay, please, please, you have to stay with me._

_Whispering: would that make you happy?_

✧☾✧

I wake up with the sun.

Always do. Today’s different, though. It’s my birthday.

Eighteen.

I’m a proper adult now.

(Well, on paper anyway—who knows when I was actually born.)

I’ve been able to sign myself out of care since I turned sixteen—no point, since I have nowhere else to go—but this is different.

I could go to a pub.

Do I want to go to a pub?

I fix my eyes on the ceiling.

The Mage comes by on my birthday every year to take me on a mission. I don’t know if he’s always that busy or if he plans things so that something worth doing lands on my birthday. Either way, I’m grateful for it. It’s the only thing I get to do all summer that involves magic. After nearly two weeks in care, it’s nice to get that as a reminder. That I didn’t make it all up. That this won’t last forever. That soon I’ll be back at Watford, where I belong.

I should stay put. Don’t want to be out day-drinking at a pub when the Mage comes by.

Maybe I’ll pick up a can of cider.

That seems lame.

Maybe the Mage and I could go to a pub.

_‘Would that make you happy?’_

I shake my head to clear it of dream-Baz’s voice.

On second thought, having a drink with the Mage sounds seriously awkward. I can picture it: him, standing the whole time, sipping plain tonic while he explains the moral importance of his sobriety.

I’ll stay put. There’s an Xbox in the living room. I’ll play FIFA until the Mage comes by, and I’ll growl at the other kids if any of them try to butt in.

* * *

I play video games until my thumbs are sore.

The Mage doesn’t come.

I’m so fucking tired.

I crawl into bed early and immediately fall asleep.

✧☾✧

_It was night-time. I was sat on a swing in an abandoned park, balancing a cake on my knees. I was struggling to eat it with a plastic fork—its tines were dull and bent. As I was finally bringing a chunk up to my mouth, a set of hands came from behind and gripped the chains of my swing, rattling me enough that the piece fell to the ground._

_“Fuck—!”_

_Baz’s teasing laugh tickled my senses. I dipped my head back as he leant over me, smiling._

_“No one should look this pretty from upside down,” I said._

_Baz’s smile grew. “What’s with the cake?”_

_I dropped my head and peered at it. Vanilla, nothing written on it. “It’s my birthday,” I explained._

_“Is it?” Baz came around to squat in front of me. “Well. Happy Birthday, Snow.”_

_“Don’t be nice to me.”_

_I scooped up some cake with my fingers and tried to smear it on Baz’s face. He grabbed my wrist, snickering. I struggled and laughed with him. I refused to give up—until Baz turned his mouth towards my cake-covered fingers and lapped up a bite. That’s when I froze._

_Baz slowly drew the entirety of my index finger between his lips. He ran his tongue along me as he withdrew, cleaning off the cake. I could feel his gaze, but I couldn’t look away from his mouth. His lips shone in the faint light from the nearby lamppost. He gave my middle finger a tentative lick, and I couldn’t resist—I pressed my finger deep into his mouth._

_Baz groaned, and his eyes drifted shut._

_The possibility of his fangs dropping was the furthest thing from my mind as I worked my fingers between those pouty lips of his. He didn’t stop licking until my hand was thoroughly cleaned._

_Our eyes met, and the rest of the cake fell to the ground._

✧☾✧

I stare at the ceiling and try to catch my breath.

This is getting ridiculous.

I rub my hands over my flushed face.

No, it’s already proper fucking ridiculous.

Baz! Sucking depressing birthday cake off my fingers!

It’s so absurd, it’s almost funny.

Better to laugh than explode, I guess.

And then something dawns on me: I pull back my sheets to see the undeniably messy evidence of my dream. My face heats up all over again.

“ _Fuck_.”

Another early laundry day for me.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Massive thank you to [Sourcherrymagiks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sourcherrymagiks/pseuds/Sourcherrymagiks) who endured my rambling questions and hypotheticals about what Simon's experience in the care homes might be like. (If there are any inaccuracies at this point, then the fault is entirely mine, haha.) Thank you, my darling cherry~!

I’m starting to welcome the dreams. I’ll take whatever little flicker of my life in the World of Mages I can get—even if that means dreaming about my awful vampire roommate who is undoubtedly going to try to kill me the second we graduate.

I’ve dreamt about that a lot. Us fighting. Him bleeding. Fire.

Morgan’s tooth, it’s always fucking fire with us, isn’t it?

I wake up every morning thinking it’s going to end in flames. That I’ll fucking explode and take down another care home.

I don’t. I wash off the sweat, and I go back out into the dry, draining heat, and I let my brain get scrambled with it. Then, I go straight to bed once nine-o’clock curfew hits. Rinse and repeat.

It’s fucked to find the routine of it comforting.

When the dreams are ... friendly, I wake up drenched in sweat for a different reason. A reason that’s getting harder and harder not to think about.

That’s how lonely I am.

What a sick joke.

* * *

I’m lying in the grass in the garden, zoned out. I’m trying not to think about the things on my list—about all the things I keep adding to it—and utterly failing. Whenever I’m not actively distracted with something, then I’m lost in a daydream about my night-dreams.

The one last night featured taking a long drive with Baz—top down, wind in our hair. I sang along with oldies on the radio while he drove, and we carried on just like that, no interruptions, not a care in the world.

“Simon!”

I jump to my feet, alarmed. Mary’s standing in the doorway, holding a cordless telephone.

“You have a call, love,” she says. (I hate when they call me ‘love’.)

My stomach clenches. There’s only one person it could be. I trudge up to Mary and take the phone, mumbling a “thanks” before bringing it to my ear.

“Hullo?”

“Happy Birthday, Simon,” comes the Mage’s voice.

I pace around by the fence, hopefully out of anyone’s earshot. “Um, thank you, sir. It was … almost two weeks ago.”

“Yes, I’m sorry about that,” he says dismissively. “I’ve been extremely busy.”

“Anything I can help with?”

“Perhaps. The Old Families have me well occupied in the south. They’ve stopped tithing, and they’re rallying their numbers. There have been several skirmishes, and I wouldn’t be surprised if a battle breaks out any day now.”

I’m so fucking relieved to hear him mention something of the world outside of this care home—something to assure me that it all isn’t something I’ve concocted in my sleep. That magic is real, and _Baz_ is real.

“Should I come down there?” I blurt out.

“No, I need you there. Have you felt the Humdrum? Have there been any attacks?”

“N-no. I haven’t seen or sensed anything.”

“That’s good. There have been reports of magickal anomalies lately, mostly in the north. I need you to remain vigilant.”

“What does that mean? ‘Magickal anomalies’.”

“They’re dead spots, though much smaller,” the Mage says. “It’s clearly the Humdrum’s doing. Martin Bunce is in Manchester, looking into it. Right now, the best way to describe it is to call them pinpricks.”

“Pinpricks...?”

“They’re only a metre wide, sometimes less. It’s impossible to tell how many. At least thirty, so far.”

My world tilts.

Thirty? _So far?_

“That ... sounds bad.”

The Mage harrumphs. “Our best guess is that the Humdrum is somehow trying to triangulate your location. Don’t be caught unawares if he locates you.”

I grip the fence. “Should ... should you maybe come up here, sir? W-we could canvass the area—maybe, um—”

“That wouldn’t be a good use of my time,” he interrupts. “Stay on your guard and attack when needed. This is what you’ve trained for, Simon.”

“S-sure, but, um— Maybe you could send some of your Men...?”

“I need them here with me to keep the Families in line. We can’t have them thinking we’re distracted; they would undo everything we’ve fought so hard far.” There’s a shift on the Mage’s side, and I know that means he’s done with me. “Call me if you have anything to report. Stay safe.”

“R ... right....”

He rings off.

I swipe the sweat off my forehead and rub my hand over my buzzed hair. It’s soft and grows fast—soon there’ll be enough for me to grab again. (In my dreams, it’s always longer. Dream-Baz seems fond of it.) Unable to tug at my hair, I take my frustration out by chewing on my cross and pacing the garden.

I try very hard not to fucking explode.

What else am I supposed to do?

✧☾✧

_I was seated at a long table in an ornate hall. Baz was on my one side, hand on my knee, talking to a younger girl on my other side. I think she was supposed to be his sister._

_Baz’s dad came to join us. Then Fiona. Then more and more people. Everyone sat on the one side of the table with us. We were all talking about something or other—I’m not sure what. It might have been gibberish. The mood was comfortable, that’s what was important. That, plus the feel of Baz’s hand on my knee and the easy smiles he gave me._

_A door on the other side of the hall opened. More people filled in, taking their seats opposite us. The Wellbeloves, the Staintons, the Mage’s Men ..._

_The Mage was the last to take his seat, directly across from mine._

_He looked furious—with me, specifically._

_My stomach roiled and my chest felt tight. I didn’t want to be there any longer. The Mage started yelling things I couldn’t understand. I squeezed my eyes shut and wished I could disappear._

_“Easy, love,” Baz whispered, his cool lips skimming my temple. “It’s just a dream.”_

_When I opened my eyes, we were in our room at Watford, lying next to each other on my bed. We were safe._

✧☾✧

I wake up and glare at my ceiling.

This is so annoying.

I definitely prefer when the dreams are random or confusing. The painfully obvious ones are almost insulting. I get it, okay, brain? Baz is part of the Old Families—he’s one of the reasons the Mage is having trouble right now. I know!

It’d be easier to remember if I was still having aggressive dreams about him. The only fighting we’ve done lately has been upsetting, not rewarding. He tries to hurt me but is always thwarted somehow. Or I hurt him, and then I beg for the damage to be undone. Sometimes, we just hold onto each other and let the flames take care of the rest.

We’re not supposed to be soft. We’re enemies.

_‘It’s just a dream.’_

I know, I know! I fucking get it!

* * *

I stop going to the pool because the crowds are too much, despite the Normals giving me a wide berth. I absolutely don’t want the Humdrum to find me while I’m in a pool or locker room, anyway.

I kill time at the park most days instead, and I try not to look like a creep about it. While it’d be bad if civilians got involved, it’d be a pretty good place for a fight otherwise. Lots of space.

I spend so many days sitting on the park bench and thinking about dark creature attacks, it’s the only thing I dream about for a while.

✧☾✧

_Baz and I were having a picnic in a field of flowers in the park. It was disgustingly idyllic. Then, there was that awful, dry prickle that comes before the Humdrum strikes. Next thing we knew, we were staring down a manticore. (It was way more clown-like than it ought to have been.) (Which is weird, because I didn’t think I had an issue with clowns.)_

_We fought it together, just like we did with the chimera in fifth year. My magic wouldn’t cooperate, and Baz was casting these long sonnets or whatever, but it definitely wasn’t working. In between stanzas, he kept yelling at me to go off._

_I was trying. I was breathing hard, my edges were blurred, and everything was tinged red. The pressure inside kept building and building. The more I tried to channel it, the more agitated I became. Baz was going to die if I didn’t manage to unleash soon._

_I just wanted to help him. I just wanted him to be okay—!_

The dream ends abruptly when I’m awoken by yelling in the home. Sounds like one of the boys is getting chewed out. As I groan and roll over, trying to get back to sleep, I catch sight of my clock.

It’s nearly ten.

I’ve never slept so late in my life.

I drag myself out of my room, interrupting the argument in the kitchen. Well, not so much an argument—seems like a staff member (Rory?) has been laying into one of the boys. The kid looks scared out of his mind.

Not my business, not my fight.

I do my chores, then I roam around outside for the rest of the day, doing my best to stay alert in case the Humdrum strikes, even though I feel dead on my feet.

✧☾✧

_I was back on the park swing. I felt anxious. I was waiting for something. I couldn’t move. I had to stay put and wait._

_The sun set. Night fell._

_I looked over, and suddenly Baz was there on the swing next to me, faintly lit by a lamppost. I wanted to touch his cheek to make sure he was real. My hands wouldn’t budge._

_“Hi,” I said._

_“You look miserable,” he said._

_I dropped my gaze into my lap. “Yeah.”_

_“What’s wrong?”_

_I shrugged._

_Baz stood and offered me his hand. “Come on, then.”_

_“No, I— I have to stay here.”_

_Baz swung his head about, assessing the park. “Here? Why?”_

_“The Humdrum’s coming.”_

_“And you’re_ waiting _for him?”_

_I shrugged again._

_“That’s ridiculous, Snow.” Baz offered his hand again. “Let’s get out of here.”_

_“I can’t!” I huffed. “I’m the only one that can fight him!”_

_Baz’s brow had a deep furrow. “Always the hero.”_

_“Not always,” I muttered._

✧☾✧

I wake up feeling guilty, so I decide to stay put today to keep an eye on that younger kid. It doesn’t sit well with me to not at least ask him if he’s okay. I’m supposed to be the hero, right?

His name is Jake. He’s aged thirteen, maybe fourteen. There are no visible injuries on him, which is good but doesn’t necessarily disprove anything.

Jake disappears into the back of the house after lunch. I occupy myself with playing video games in the living room. Some thirty minutes later, Jake comes padding quietly down the hall. I probably only hear him because I’m used to listening out for Baz.

I get up and pretend like I’m heading to the kitchen, trying to be subtle about intercepting him. He’s walking with his head tucked down—it’s not enough to hide the fact that he’s clearly been crying.

“Oi,” I call out. “All right, mate?”

He keeps on walking, and I can’t tell if he heard me. As he passes, I grab his upper arm. Stupid—shouldn’t’ve done—Jake practically leaps out of his skin.

“Don’t touch me!” he screams. He yanks his arm away, and I stumble back more from horror than anything else.

Jake rushes out of the home. I just stand there and look straight through the floorboards while trying not to think of how many times I’ve reacted the same way.

He’s fine. If he’s not fine, he’ll call his keyworker. Or he’ll make a report. Or whatever. There are things—things he can do—if—if things aren’t fine.

I’ve been here for five weeks. Have I ever seen an inspector come by?

I thunk my head back against the wall.

Who am I kidding? This home is definitely unregulated. Maybe not registered at all. The ones the Mage sends me to usually aren’t. Cheaper that way. The proper children’s homes don’t prioritize taking in older kids like me, so of course this place is off the radar. I could’ve realized it from the start had I taken a second to think about it. Which I didn’t because I don’t care—not for me, anyway. I’ve learnt how to handle myself. (I’ve got a bloody sword, if I need it.) But for kids like Jake ...

I go to my room and slide the dresser in front of the door. It’s too early for it, but I get in bed and pull the covers over my head. I screw my eyes shut and try not to think.

I’m so tired, and sleeping is so much easier than any of this.

✧☾✧

_I broke a mug. It wasn’t an accident—I smashed it in a rage. Because I was twelve again and freaking out and there was so much yelling._

_I’ve relived this moment in my dreams so many times._

_I’d been moved to a different home. The previous one had been shut down for using some of the kids for drug trafficking—not me, but I knew about it. And I was upset. Not only was I not at Watford, but now I’d been tossed into a new place all over again only three weeks later. I always reeked of smoke, and I couldn’t get my words out unless I yelled. The carers yelled right back, only making it worse._

_We usually eat on paper plates with plastic cups and utensils. The mugs were only for tea. Their use was supervised—everything was fucking supervised._

_I don’t remember why I freaked out. It was too long ago, and I’ve dreamt up so many different versions of the story by now, I’ve no hope of recalling the real thing._

_This version was way fucked._

_My carer transformed into something straight out of one of those Japanese horror films. All bent-back fingernails and endless, stringy hair, with a mouth that unhinged as she screeched._

_I’ve fought a lot of dark creatures. Nothing’s ever been quite as scary as this was._

_I ran and I ran, but the halls were endless. There was no escape. I yanked open a door, hiding inside and making a barricade with the furniture._

_Then I sunk down and fought hard not to cry. I couldn’t risk making a sound. I clamped my hands over my mouth to quiet my terrified hiccups._

_I noticed my palm was bleeding from when I broke the mug. She’d be able to smell me. I probably left her a bloody trail straight to my door._

_I bit my lip and cried harder, as silently as I could._

_There was a knock on the door. I didn’t dare to so much as blink._

_An eternity later, there was another knock. And then: “Snow?”_

_I jumped up and opened the door, the barricade gone. There was Baz, aged eighteen like always. Suddenly, I was eighteen again, too._

_He quirked an eyebrow at me. “All right?”_

_“Hush!” I pulled him into the room, shut the door, and rounded on him. “What are you doing here?”_

_“You invited me,” he said simply._

_Baz plucked up my hand to eye my wound. His mouth was too full. I could see his fangs peeking out as he spoke, but I wasn’t scared. Baz pressed his lips to my skin. When he released me, my palm was healed, and there was no trace of blood or fangs._

_“You can’t be here,” I said._

_“Why not?” He looked concerned. He reached for my cheek, and I leant into it._

_“She’ll get mad.”_

_“Who, that awful yokai woman? I disposed of her.”_

_“Oh,” I said, like that was totally reasonable. It was hard to focus on anything other than Baz’s cool fingers against my hot cheeks._

_His voice went all soft and sweet. “Tell me why you’re so upset, love.” (I liked it when_ he _called me that.)_

_“I hate it here....”_

_“Where?”_

_“The care home.”_

_“So let’s leave.” Déjà vu._

_Baz shifted closer to me, and I let him. Merlin, his touch felt amazing…._

_“I—I can’t,” I told him. “I have to stay put.”_

_“Let’s make the most of it, then.” He smiled at me, all trouble. “Are you allowed out? What can we go do? What would make you happy?”_

_“It’s Liverpool—there’s plenty to do, but…” I shrugged._

_“We could go see a game.”_

_I shook my head. “I don’t have tickets.”_

_Baz reached into his pocket and pulled out a whole ludicrous wad of them. “Consider it sorted.”_

_I laughed. It felt absurd, even within the dream. “I knew I invited you for a reason.”_

✧☾✧

I roll out of bed around ten o’clock again. I’m relieved to see Jake on the sofa, watching telly. I prepare myself a bowl of Weetabix then hover in the entryway of the living room. 

“Hey, uh, sorry about yesterday,” I say.

Jake shifts uncomfortably and tries not to look at me. “S’fine.”

“You just—you looked upset, and, uh. Listen, if anyone’s been bothering you, er—” Fuck, I’m bad at this.

“Nah, was my fault,” he mumbles.

“Was it?”

Jake starts fiddling with the remote. “I almost broke probation, trying to visit me mum. So. Yeah. Got in trouble. Rory’s just looking out for me.”

My tension fizzles away. I feel like a total wanker now, but that’s all right. At least the kid’s safe, got people in his corner.

“Good,” I say lamely. “Uh, okay. Yeah.” I give him a nod and then go back to hiding in my room to eat my cereal. 

I’m relieved it’s nothing bad. But that doesn’t change the fact that Rory shouldn’t’ve yelled like that. And that I’ve not seen any officials come around. Can’t help but figure this home still ought to be reported, at least on premise. That’s a thing, innit?

I’ve got no idea. My fights involve fists, or swords, or going off—not a lot of paperwork when you’re the Chosen One. Asking seems stupid. _‘Hullo, could you assist me in reporting your establishment?’_

Maybe the Mage knows.

Later, while some of the others are busy putting together lunch, I take the cordless phone out into the garden, and I ring the Mage.

He answers so fast, I don’t have time to get properly nervous. “Simon? Do you have something to report?”

“Um. W-well, not exactly. I wanted to, uh, to ask— I think that this home might be un— You know, uh. Unregulated? Or something? So—”

The Mage sighs. “If you’re having trouble with one of the staff, that’s not something I can help you with.”

“No, I mean— I was just thinking, that uh, you could look into it, sir.”

There’s a soft scraping sound on the other side of the line. The Mage must be rubbing a hand over his beard. “The county council is who places you, Simon, not me.” He sounds exasperated—and distracted.

“Yeah, I know— ”

“You’d have to call them or the local authorities, if you think it’s worth it.”

Pressure is building up in my chest. It’s too hot out here. The heat feels like needles in each of my pores.

Before I have the chance to sputter out anything else, the Mage continues: “As you know, I’m very busy right now. I’ll touch base with you soon.” Then he hangs up.

_No, you won’t._

I go inside to put the phone back on its dock. It’s cooler in here, but that prickling feeling doesn’t go away. I’m sweating and I already can’t breathe well, so it’s probably not a good idea to skip lunch and go hide under my covers.

I do it anyway.

I sleep for a long time.

✧☾✧

_“Do you ever feel like you’re something else?”_

_Despite Baz’s soft voice, I easily heard him over the waves crashing below us. We were lounging side-by-side on a grassy cliff, staring at the overcast evening sky._

_“What, like a tortoise?”_

_“No,” Baz huffed. “I mean: with all your slaying and explosions, do you ever feel like you’re different from everyone else?”_

_“Sure.”_

_Baz turned his head towards me, so I turned mine towards him. He was close enough that I wouldn’t have to reach very far to yank on his too-high nose. (I resisted.)_

_“Because you’re the Chosen One?” he asked._

_“I’m a bunch of nothing. Not a Normal or a mage or an orphan or adopted. Not even much of a Chosen One, am I?”_

_“You’re a hero,” Baz insisted gently._

_“Am I?”_

_“Well, you’re not a villain.” There was a note of bitter humour in his voice._

_That made me smile some. “Suppose that’s true.”_

_We went back to staring at the sky. The clouds were strange. They looked like scones with legs. One of them was doing ballet._

_I wanted to ask Baz what he saw in the clouds, but I asked something else instead: “Do_ you _feel like that? Like you’re different?”_

_Baz’s answer was firm, pained, “Always”._

_“Because you’re a vampire?” I asked._

_“Yeah.”_

_We fell silent again. After a long moment, Baz slowly sat up. I watched him as he stared into a place I wished I could reach. I wondered what he saw there._

_“Will you live forever?” I asked._

_“I don’t know.”_

_“Do you want to?”_

_“Crowley, no.”_

_“Why not?”_

_Baz looked down at me like I was mad. “Because I’ll have to watch everyone I love die.”_

_“That’s true. Immortality’s crap for that, huh? Though, it’d be nice to not worry about dying every time I’m in a fight.”_

_“You’d be a shit vampire, Snow.”_

_“Oi.”_

_Baz gave me a rueful smile before angling towards the scenery again. We listened to the waves, and the sky grew darker. The clouds looked like bats now. I wondered if they were vampires, too._

_Sometime later, he whispered, “I hope I’m not immortal....”_

_The words felt heavy. Like they’d been carved from the cliff and were sitting on my chest._

_I waited, and another whispered confession came: “I don’t want to see you die.”_

_“In battle? Or of old age?”_

_“Either. I don’t want to exist in a world without you in it, Simon.”_

_Those words felt heavy as well. This time, it was a comforting sensation, like one of those weighted blankets that are supposed to calm you down._

_It was too dark to see the clouds any more. I closed my eyes and made my own confession:_

_“Me either, Baz.”_


	6. Chapter 6

I've decided I hate the sun.

At Watford, sunrise is exciting. It means bothering Baz awake, glaring at him in the mirror as we do up our ties, then heading to breakfast and stuffing myself silly while chatting with my friends. (I'm not supposed to think about Watford—)

Nowadays, I don't wake up until the sun is high in the sky, looking down on me mockingly. Big, obnoxious ball of heat.

The sun's proper villainous, isn't it? Leaves you all singed and parched.

Sunset is what I look forward to now. The light sinks beyond the horizon, with a cool evening in its wake, and then I can slip into bed, into the one good thing I have....

✧☾✧

_I was lying on the Great Lawn, the grass tickling my skin. It was twilight, and there was a faint breeze. The air smelled fresh, like sunshine and clean linens and cedar._

_There was music._

_I rolled my head to the side to see Baz. He was standing a few feet away, staring off across the scenery, and he was playing something on his violin, all slow and intriguing. Each note pulled at my heart, each press of his fingers made me yearn. He was too far away. I wanted him to reel me in and draw the music from my body._

_The song faded to an end. I held my breath._

_"What spell did you cast?"_

_I wasn't sure if I imagined him speaking, so I said nothing. Baz finally lowered his violin and turned his eyes to me._

_"What spell did you cast, Snow?"_

_He has a lovely voice, doesn't he? Rich and well-controlled. It washed over me same as the violin._

_My own voice came out unsteady as I asked, "What do you mean?"_

_"The dreaming spell."_

_I swallowed. **"Dream a little dream of me,"** I told him without magic._

_A warm smile spread over Baz's lips. "Let's see...," he mumbled._

_Baz positioned his instrument again. He took a deep breath, then he began coaxing a serene series of notes from the violin. My chest swelled with something undefinable._

_It was the song...._

_I felt compelled to hum along._

_Baz smiled when he heard me join in. "Do you know the words?" he asked, still playing._

_"Not really," I admitted._

_His eyes drifted closed. On the next line, while I kept on humming, Baz began to sing:_

"Say 'Night-ie night' and kiss me

Just hold me tight and tell me you'll miss me

While I'm alone and blue as can be

Dream a little dream of me..."

_I felt like I was in a thrall. His voice was beautiful, exactly as I should've expected. Baz sounded like those midday summer rain showers that rumble through you and reset your whole world, making the air breathable again._

_I had to close my eyes. He was too wonderful to look at. I sunk into the grass and let his music flood my body._

"Stars fading, but I linger on, dear

Still craving your kiss

I'm longing to linger till dawn, dear

Just saying this..."

_The song trailed off. When I opened my eyes, Baz was settling on his knees at my side, leaning over me. My heart jumped into my throat in the best way._

_"What are you doing...?" I asked as his fingers brushed my curls off my forehead._

_"Craving your kiss," he murmured._

_Baz dipped down, and I let my eyes fall closed again, awaiting his—_

A slamming door jolts me out of my dream. I shove my face into my pillow and scream.

* * *

It's hot as hell outside. It's not supposed to be this hot here—every day is another record-breaker, and it's only been getting worse. I'm slouched on a park bench, sweaty and tetchy, trying to recall the sensation from last night of dream-Baz's cool fingers in my hair. Merlin, that would be so good right now....

I'm not sure what's shimmering more, the heatwaves coming off the paved park trail or my magic fighting to get out. I look vacantly through the wiggly air and catch sight of proud shoulders, a trim waist, and sinfully long legs. I'm convinced at first that he's a mirage. Like the dreams are getting to me so much, I'm starting to hallucinate.

Then he turns, and his eyes meet mine. When I see the shock of recognition creep into his face, I know he's real.

Baz Pitch is standing a few metres away, looking absolutely fucking horrified to see me.

My anger comes on fast. I storm towards him without a thought. "What the fuck are you doing here?" I spit.

He looks stunned, then he gives his head a sharp shake and straightens up. "None of your business," Baz says, though it's not with his usual iciness. He's rattled.

"The fuck it isn't," I growl. It's an effort not to throttle him. "Are you stalking me?"

Baz gives me a familiar sneer at that. "As hilarious as it would be to give you a taste of your own medicine, I regret to inform you that my world does not revolve around you, Snow, no matter how desperately you wish it did."

I'm about to lose it on him—fucking proper lose it, explosions and all. "Why are you here?" I roar. When I advance on him more, Baz yields ground to me. I must be hazy at the edges.

"Down boy," he hisses. "I'm here on reconnaissance."

"What does that mean?"

"Well, it's a noun—"

I shove his chest, and he stumbles back another step. "Don't fuck with me, Pitch."

" _Crowley_." Baz steps back more, scowling and dusting off his shirt like I've dirtied it. "You're in an awful mood."

"There's an understatement." I shove him again because I'm furious he thinks he can _literally_ brush me off. "How dare you fucking show up here?"

When I shove him a third time, Baz sighs and graciously backs himself up against a tree. He gives a grand gesture with open palms. "Happy now? Got me where you want me?"

My anger pulses like a volcano sucking in a deep breath before it erupts—

_We had been fighting about something. Classic schoolyard stuff with shoving and name-calling. We eventually tackled each other to the ground, but it wasn't a tussle any more. We were grappling and rolling about and laughing—for some reason there was so much laughing. So much, we couldn't continue._

_I got the upper hand, or maybe he let me, and then I just kept him there, pinned under me while we laughed._

_While our fight had been outside, once I was over Baz on my hands and knees, we were instantly transported to our room. The mattress of my bed at Watford dipped under our weights. Moonlight came in through the open window—Baz's mirthful eyes were shining with it._

_"You look happy," he purred up at me._

_"Yeah," I said, "finally got you right where I want you."_

How dare he? How _dare_ he show up here?

How dare he rub it in my fucking face that the thing carrying me through this shit summer isn't _real_? Just one more item on the list of things I can't have?

No posh supermodel mum. No footballer dad. No mentor that gives a shit about me. No caring, talented, gorgeous, vampire boyfriend—

Wait.

No—

Nonono...!

Having a bunch of confusingly friendly, sexy dreams about Baz is one thing—I can live with that—I think—but _this_ —

Oh _fuck_.

_I fancy him._

Not _him_. Not this him, right now, in front of me, looking at me like I'm a turd he stepped in.

The him in my dreams.

I fancy Baz Pitch, and if that isn't bad enough ... I fancy a Baz Pitch who doesn't even really _exist_.

Well ... shit....

It's not the universe-shattering revelation I would have expected. My magic doesn't continue it's trajectory until I explode in a blaze of distress and anger and self-pity. I just ... deflate.

This isn't going off. It's going _out_.

I stumble backwards, releasing Baz. He stares at me, slack-jawed, like I hit him. Maybe I should. Maybe breaking his nose again would make me feel better. (Did it even make me feel better the first time?)

" _Fuck._ " It comes out of me like a whine. I back up further and rub at my head. The hairs prickle my palms. Usually that's a good sensation—distracting. Now, it reminds me of the oppressive heat and the stinging in my eyes and the dryness of my throat. Oh God—am I going to cry? I haven't let Baz bring me to tears in years. This is such a stupid thing to cry about—

"Snow?"

"Shut up," I croak.

I'm not going to cry. I turn away from him and shove the heels of my palms against my eyes.

"What is _wrong_ with you?"

I'm not going to cry, and I'm not going to go off, but I still might fucking punch him.

"Shut _up_ , Baz!" I stalk off so I don't wind up swinging. Then, I feel his hand clamp around my elbow, and I scream, " _Don't touch me!_ " I wrench out of Baz's grip and slug him hard enough to send him sprawling onto the grass. My stomach sinks to the centre of the earth.

Baz glowers at me from the ground. It's not an exciting sight like it is in my dreams. It makes me feel sick. He thumbs at his lip—it's bleeding.

I've dreamt of this. Him attacking me, and me splitting his lip, and him laughing maniacally about it.

He's definitely not laughing.

I'm the villain here, aren't I...?

"What the _fuck_ , Snow?"

"Sorry—!" I gasp, scrubbing my sweaty palms on my thighs. "I didn't— I'm sorry."

I offer a hand to him, but Baz slaps it aside and pulls himself up to his full height, his face twisted in a way I can't read. He's spitting mad. Literally—he spits blood at my feet. I flinch.

"Y-your lip..."

"I noticed," he snarls.

If I had my wand, maybe I could heal him.

No ... all I ever do is hurt him.

That’s all my magic is good for.

Baz has it under control, anyway. He pulls his wand out of his rolled-up sleeve and casts a quick healing spell on his lip before hiding it away again. He's scowling at me, won't take his eyes off me. Probably assumes I'll knife him if he gives me the chance. Can't blame him.

I shove my hands into the pockets of my trackie bottoms and slump in on myself. "I really am sorry," I mutter.

Baz gives an indignant sniff. "I'll forgive you solely on the condition you stop with this nauseating display of remorse."

I nod eagerly, which makes Baz curl his lip, but he finally stops eyeing me like I'm a wild animal. He brushes off his trousers and smooths a hand over his hair. It's only loosely styled today, sweeping across his cheek in that way I like.

It makes me think of a different dream ...

_I was watching from the sidelines of the pitch. Baz was there, all kitted out, playing against a team of Minotaurs. (Not a single one of which was Professor Minos.) Baz had teammates, but he didn't need them. He was fucking ruthless. It took my breath away._

_Baz jogged over to me, and I handed him a water bottle. I watched the bob of his throat as he drank. Finished, he handed it back, then he undid his ponytail—it was falling apart from his match. He shook out his hair before beginning to tie it up again. I couldn't take my eyes off him._

_"Don't pull it back," I said._

_"It will get in my face if I don't."_

_"Good. I like when it falls in your face."_

_Baz arched a perfect eyebrow at me. "Do you?"_

_"Fuck yes. I like everything about you right now."_

I am such an idiot.

How did I not notice I was falling for dream-Baz?

I scrub my hands over my face, trying to snap out of it. This guy in front of me is the _real_ Baz—I can't let myself forget that just because they look the same. _He's_ the villain. He's here in Liverpool for absolutely no good reason, I'm sure of it, and I need to _focus_ and figure out why.

"Seriously, Baz, what are you doing here?"

Baz adjusts the folds of his shirt sleeves at his elbows. "I told you," he huffs, "reconnaissance. The Families heard rumours that the Humdrum is up to something in the north. A few of us have been sent to investigate." Baz narrows his eyes at me. "I suspect you're involved somehow."

I bluster. "What? No—I'm not."

"Then why are _you_ here? Acting like a madman, no less?"

"I, um,"— _fuck_ —"I'm staying at a care home nearby."

Baz's jaw clenches and unclenches. "...A care home?"

I can't look at him. "Yeah."

There's an awkward beat. Baz exhales. "Your master needs to keep you on a shorter leash; you've become an absolute menace outside of his supervision."

As if the Mage has ever supervised me ...

"Is this a plot?"

I gawk at Baz. "What?" I blurt. "You're accusing _me_ of plotting?"

Baz scowls. "Yes."

"Why?!"

"Because your Mage has been distracting the Families with nonsense all summer long. I assume it's to keep us from noticing you're up to something here."

I can't believe this. "You think I'm—? What, you think I'm in _cahoots_ with the Humdrum?"

"It might explain this unhinged lunacy of yours."

I growl and storm off. Fuck this, and fuck him—he has no idea what I'm going through! And I'm not about to let him find out. It's bad enough he'll surely report to the Old Families that he saw me here, which is exactly the kind of misunderstanding that could spark a full-blown war. If I flip my lid and punch him again, who knows what the consequences would be. Worse yet, what I'd _really_ like to do is throw him to the ground and—

_Seven snakes._

I need to go—I can't let him _see_ —

I'm too focussed on getting some distance between us, so Baz notices it first: a dry tingle in the air. By the time I recognize the empty sucking sensation for what it is, Baz already has his wand at the ready.

This summer just keeps getting worse.

I run towards the presence of whatever dark creature the Humdrum has summoned. I can hear Baz on my tail, rattling off a series of cloaking spells to hide us from the Normals as we both rush deeper into the park. I'm halfway through the incantation for the Sword of Mages when I stumble right into a dead spot. The words die on my lips as my magic evaporates.

"Stay back!" I yell over my shoulder, but Baz is already right there beside me, the leggy bastard. He curses as he feels his magic go dry, then he stumbles back a few steps. I step out of the zone as well and properly summon my sword this time. Looks like I’ll get to fight alongside Baz after all....

Baz and I each take a side, skimming the perimeter of the dead spot, feeling the pull. It's just as the Mage said, only a few feet wide at most. Why? Why would the Humdrum only take small bites like this?

"Simon...?"

I whip my head towards Baz. He's not looking at me, though—he's staring right into the centre of the dead spot. I follow his gaze to see a child sitting on a low branch in one of the trees. No, not a child—it's the Humdrum, it has to be—the sucking sensation is coming from him.

But it also _can't_ be the Humdrum because ... because he looks like _me_. Like eleven-year-old me. He's even got the ratty jeans and that red ball I used to carry around.

"You're not in cahoots with the Humdrum," Baz murmurs, "you _are_ him."

"I'm not!"

Baz stares at me with wide eyes, blinking judgementally. "Are you not seeing what I'm seeing?" he asks, damn well already knowing the answer.

I lock my attention on the Humdrum. "Why are you wearing my face?" I demand.

The Humdrum grins and shrugs.

"See?" Baz says. "That's exactly what you look like."

"You're _not_ me!" I scream.

The Humdrum's grin widens. He hops down from the tree and bounces his ball.

This can’t be real. This has to be a dream—a _nightmare_.

I grip my sword tighter. "Show your real face!"

The Humdrum laughs. It’s _my_ laugh—

"Stop fucking around!"

The Humdrum throws the ball my way. A roar tears out of me as I whack it with my sword. It bounces once, twice, and rolls towards Baz. He stops it by propping his shoe on it like it's a tiny football.

"What are you playing at?" Baz booms, not looking nearly as intimidated as he ought to be.

The Humdrum keeps on laughing—that is, until Baz gives his best sneer and grinds his foot onto the ball harder, the soil giving way under the pressure. Then, the Humdrum huffs and stomps his foot impatiently.

Can he not speak?

I hoist my sword and widen my stance. "Come over here and let's settle this!"

The second it's out of my mouth, that terrible sucking sensation gets worse, making me falter. The hole hasn't widened, I still have my magic, but it fucking _hurts._ There’s no way a dream could hurt this much. I grit my teeth, digging my heels in, and Baz grunts, further crushing the ball under his foot. The more he does it, the more the Humdrum flails, wordlessly screaming—and the worse the pain gets.

I open my mouth to yell at Baz to stop, but I can't get my words out, either. It hurts too much. The dry itch feels like the world's worst sunburn. When I look down at my loosening grasp on the Sword, I swear I can see liquid being siphoned from my skin—

Baz threatens the Humdrum with something, and then there's a swooshing sound with an impact, and a scream—maybe two screams—maybe the Humdrum and I are _both_ screaming—and then—

The pain is gone so fast, I fall to my knees from the force of the release. My sword disappears back to wherever it goes.

"Are you all right?" Baz bellows from where he stands.

"I ... I think so," I groan, inspecting my arms. There's blood and some kind of yellowish fluid beading up from my pores and staining my clothes. "What the fuck—?"

Baz strides my way from around the edge of the dead spot, casting **clean as a whistle** on each of us as he approaches. (I’ve never been grateful to have someone cast a cleaning spell on me before.) His voice comes out a bit garbled—I'm still woozy and confused. I rub at my eyes and groan some more. When I lift my head again, I see Baz crouched next to me, and my stomach clenches.

"Are you in pain?" He sounds so sincere, and his forehead is lined with worry. He looks gentle, like he does in my dreams. Which is a super dangerous line of thought.

"N-no," I manage. "The pain stopped. I don't know what he did to me.... It's like he was trying to drag my guts out through my skin."

"Our magic, surely."

"You felt it, too?"

"Yeah."

"What happened? Where did he go?" I push myself to my feet, and Baz follows.

"I kicked his ball as far as I could, and he ran after it," Baz says casually.

Well, that's a relief, I guess.

"He's never done that before..."

"Done what?" Baz asks, arching his brow at me. "Reveal his true face to your nemesis?"

Oh, shit. This is _worse_ than a nightmare, isn’t it? 

"Baz, you can't—" I grab his shirt, jostling him with my urgency. "You can't tell anyone about this! I know what it looked like, but I swear to magic, I have nothing to do with the Humdrum!"

Baz sighs. "Relax. I'm not going to report you to the Families."

I stare at him. "You're not...?"

"No. Now stop manhandling me."

I jerk away from him. Baz frets over his wrinkled shirt.

"W-why not?"

"Because," he drawls with a smirk that makes my spine tingle, "if it turns out you truly are a supervillain, then I think I'd like to be in your good graces."

I bark out a humourless laugh. "Great, that's comforting."

Baz gives his wand a twirl. "Let's make a deal," he says, and my hackles immediately go up. "I'll swear not to mention this to the Families if you swear not to tell the Mage that some of us are inspecting matters up north."

Right. The real Baz only cares about himself. I can't let him trick me with his disgustingly attractive face and all these fake "memories" I think we have. He's still _Baz_. He's my stuck-up, manipulative, selfish, vampire nemesis. Not ... not anyone worth being in love with.

"Fine," I grumble, thrusting my hand at him. "Deal."

Baz's lashes droop as he settles his icy hand into mine. _Merlin_. _**"A deal's a deal,"**_ he casts, tapping his wand to our joined hands. Baz's magic burns me out of my thoughts about how good his touch feels. I yank my hand back.

"You should get out of here," I say.

Baz puts his hand away. He sounds hesitant as he asks, "Are you going to be all right?"

"What do you care?" I grunt, immediately feeling like a tosser. "I'll be fine," I add quickly. "S'what I do, yeah? Fight the Humdrum, and all that."

Baz doesn't look very convinced, but he nods anyway. "Then, I suppose I'll ... leave you to it," he trails off.

"Right...."

I don't want him to go.

I'm so stupid. I know this isn't the sweet Baz from my dreams. Even so ... he's an anchor. Concrete evidence that the World is still turning, whether or not I can see it. He's my tangible reminder of Watford. That in only a few more weeks, I'll be _home_.

There might be all-out war by then, with both Baz's side and with the Humdrum. But at least it's real. At least _that much_ is real.

Baz clears his throat, says "See you in a few weeks, Snow," then finally turns to leave.

I want to stop him and ask him if he's still been having strange dreams, but I'm feeling like I might crumble no matter what his answer is. I'm feeling so fucking _weak_. I couldn't even fight the Humdrum, could I? Baz was the one who saved the day.

Everything's backwards.

I stand there, and I watch Baz walk away. I keep standing there until clouds roll in, threatening rain. Then I go back to the care home.

* * *

After supper, I stand in the garden out back even though it's lightly raining, and I peer at the cordless phone.

I won't report Baz or the Families. And I won't report the home, either—there's no point. The Mage isn't going to do anything to help, obviously, and neither will the county council if they're the ones placing kids here. The only person I can rely on is myself, and I can't even do that right. Not when the Humdrum is walking around, looking like me, and I've gone completely crackers, falling in love with a fictitious version of my enemy.

I call the Mage to tell him the minimum of what happened. He almost sounds excited about the whole thing.

"This is good, Simon," he says. "We now know our enemy's face."

"It's _my_ face, sir...."

"I'll inform my Men to keep an eye out and proceed with caution if they see you. I suspect we won't see more pinpricks pop up since he's found you," the Mage muses. "I have to contact Martin about this. Call me if you learn anything else."

I say okay, and then he rings off. It doesn't feel okay at all. It feels like shit.

At least the rain has broken the heat.

✧☾✧

_"Baz!"_

_He was there, striding across the Great Lawn, his heavy winter cloak flapping behind him. He turned my way as I yelled his name. He was all dark hair and dark clothes and a dark gaze against a snow-dusted landscape. He was so striking, it made my world swirl._

_Baz smirked as I stomped his way. That confidence morphed into bewilderment as I pushed him down onto the snowy lawn and straddled his hips._

_"What are you doing, Snow?"_

_I braced myself on one hand and grasped him by the jaw with the other. I was hot all over despite the wintry weather, and his cold body felt so satisfying underneath me._

_"Shut up," I growled, "and let me have this."_

_Baz stared up at me with rounded eyes. He swallowed. "Define 'this'."_

_"I want you to be mine, Baz. At least here, if nowhere else..."_

_Baz's gaze went half-lidded as I lowered my mouth nearer to his. "I'm yours anywhere you want me, Simon," he whispered._

_I kissed him then. It didn't feel like any kiss I've ever had before. It felt like something indescribable. Unknowable. Like the first night back at Watford in September, that feeling of comfort and coming home. Like I finally got something_ right _._

_We were in the snow, and then we were nowhere. Nowhere that mattered, anyway. Nothing mattered except kissing Baz._

_Nothing._

✧☾✧

I suppose this all means I'm at least a little bit gay.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gorgeous art courtesy [imhellakitty](https://imhellakitty.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr 🖤🖤🖤

It's partly-cloudy and cool, and the rain keeps on falling. I like summer rain. It's pretty. Makes the world hushed and sparkly. But it's, you know, wet. So I can't go to the park any more because everything's soggy. And it's hard to appreciate the calm when I've got all these threats breathing down my neck.

Being asleep—being with dream-Baz—is the only time I'm truly comfortable and relaxed.

I'm so fucked, and I honestly don't even care any more.

All I want to do is dream.

✧☾✧

_I was staring at the massive double doors of Pitch Manor. (Supposedly, anyway. I've never been there before.) I imagined it as a ridiculous, sprawling gothic mansion in blacks and reds, with all sorts of dark creatures—dragons and gargoyles—carved into every available surface. Their doorbell played_ The Addams Family _theme when I rang it. As Baz pulled me inside and down the hall, I trailed my fingers over the velvety damask pattern on the wallpaper._

_Baz's aunt and dad were chatting in the kitchen. We gave each other casual hellos in greeting as I went straight for one of the cupboards. Apparently I came around often, because I knew there was an entire cupboard dedicated to storing snacks for me. I was immensely disappointed to find it empty._

_"Don't be insufferable about it," Baz warned before I could complain. "You're about to get something even better."_

_I raised both eyebrows at him. "But ... your family's right there."_

_Baz blushed, which is not something I've ever seen him do before. "Crowley, not like_ that _."_

_I wasn't sure what else he could offer me that would soften the blow of a snackless cupboard—but then the scent hit me._

_"Scones!" I cried as Cook Pritchard came through the swinging doors of an attached, industrial-looking kitchen. She was carrying a platter of sour cherry scones, so fresh from the oven that they were still steaming._

_They were, miraculously, not too hot to eat. Baz watched me with a smitten smirk, offering up block after block of butter as I blasted my way through a dozen scones._

_It was heaven._

_Once the scones were gone and my stomach satisfied, I spent the rest of my time exploring the estate with Baz._

_Actually, that's not quite true...._

_We were trying to find a private spot. I pulled Baz onto the couch in his library, and he licked inside my mouth. (I probably tasted really good.) The only 'exploring' we were interested in was with our hands and tongues. Then, Baz said he heard his stepmum coming, so we sneaked off to find a different place to make out._

_That's how the rest of the dream went. Us finding empty rooms or private corners and snogging each other stupid. The moment things would get particularly heated, someone would come along and startle us apart. Malcolm, Fiona, his stepmum, Cook Pritchard—they were all fluttering about. A baby crawled past at some point, as well. There were even servants wandering the halls. Nowhere was safe. We couldn't stay in any one place long enough to—_

_Well. To ... get off._

When I wake up, I take a long, cold shower.

* * *

The Normals and I still aren't comfortable around each other, though it's better now that I no longer reek of brimstone every morning when I get up. That stopped happening once I accepted that I'm in love with dream-Baz. I don't wake up in a panic any more—I just wake up lonely. (And sweaty.)

I've got pretty good at sleeping through the sounds of banging doors and yelling. It'll wake me, but then I'll roll over and fall back into Baz's arms. I'd stay in bed all day if I could ... but there are chores to be done, and skipping breakfast means I'm extra ravenous by lunch.

If the chores are finished and the telly is occupied, I'll hide in my room and practice my sword work. It's easy to dismiss the sword in a hurry if I need to, and as much as I don't want to think about it, it's possible the Humdrum will show up again. I can't let myself get sloppy—it's bad enough I'm weak from loafing around and not eating much.

Makes me a bit glad I punched Baz when I saw him the other day. Seems I've not totally lost my strength.

I wonder if he left town right away, or if he poked his stupid nose around a while longer.

I wonder if it wasn't raining and I went to the park, if I would run into him again.

I wonder if he's dreamt of me....

✧☾✧

_It was sunset and drizzling. Baz and I were walking together under an umbrella. We were talking about some kind of research project he and Penny were doing together. (Not that those two have ever collaborated on anything before.) (I can see how they'd be a good match for it, though.) He was so animated about it, practically glowing._

_I'd give input now and then. We were talking about interdimensional magic or something—which is a field I literally know nothing about, so I was probably talking a load of crap. (I'm not even sure if it's a field at all, honestly.) Still, Baz was keen to hear what I had to say, even though he was taking the piss now and then. It was funny. More than anything, though, it was just ... nice._

_I couldn't get enough of him._

_Baz let the umbrella fall to the pavement as I nudged him up against a lamppost. He watched me with darkening eyes, and I took my time dragging my gaze over him, watching the raindrops slide down his neck and under his collar. I could feel my T-shirt sticking to me, the fabric growing wet and semi-transparent. Baz licked his lips, then pulled me closer by the belt loops of my jeans._

_I kissed him in the rain until night fell, painting us in black and white, and then I kept on kissing him. It felt like the peak of romance—like some artsy French film, all wet and moody as we murmured incomprehensible things into each other's mouths._

✧☾✧

The telly is free more often these days because one of the boys got arrested. It's nice to have one less Normal to worry about tiptoeing around. As an added bonus, it was the big scowly kid who I figured was going to mug me eventually. Turns out he mugged someone else, so that's sorted.

Mary still tries to jabber at me on occasion, but I've been responding less and less, and I can tell she's running out of fucks to give. When I was younger, the carers made a bigger fuss about me not speaking much, especially if I went fully non-verbal. Now, me not speaking is probably welcome. So long as I'm not causing trouble, what do they care?

I'm knotted up in a corner of the sofa and playing video games when Jake comes by. We give each other a small nod, then he perches on a chair on the far side of the living room, knees tucked under his chin. I play, and he watches, and neither one of us says a thing.

I try to remember how many days it's been since I spoke with someone other than dream-Baz.

Doesn't really matter, does it?

✧☾✧

_There was music, but it wasn't coming from Baz. He was next to me, his arm around my waist as we lounged in bed. We were in some kind of fancy hotel room with panelled terrace doors lined by fluttering gauzy curtains. A faint melody wafted in along the ocean-scented breeze._

_"Is that an accordion...?" Baz grumbled sleepily into my shoulder._

_"Mm, sounds like."_

_"How painfully French."_

_My laugh jostled Baz, so he harrumphed and rolled away. "You're the one who picked this place," I said, crowding him to lay kisses on his bare shoulders. Aside from the thin white linens, I don't think we were wearing much at all._

_"Because the French Riviera is supposed to be glamorous and romantic. Accordions are neither," Baz grumps._

_"So let's make our own music."_

_"You're insatiable, Snow."_

_I pinched his waist. "Not like that, you dick. Sing to me or something."_

_Baz and I wiggled about until we were comfortably cuddling once more, with me spooning his back, my arm draped over his. I buried my nose in the crook of his neck, and Baz began to sing:_

"Ce souvenir je te le prends.

Des souvenirs, comme ça j'en veux tout le temps.

Si par erreur la vie nous sépare,

J'le sortirai d'mon tiroir."

 _The syllables rolled off Baz's tongue effortlessly. I had no idea what he was saying, but it didn't matter—I knew the tune well. It was_ Dream A Little Dream Of Me _, and it was even lovelier like this, where I couldn't get hung up on the words and instead could just melt completely into Baz's husky tone._

_I sat up and nudged Baz onto his back so I could see his eyes as he sang. He smiled up at me adoringly, brushing my curls aside with his deft fingers as he softly crooned._

"J'rêve les yeux ouverts.

Ça m'fait du bien.

Ça ne va pas plus loin.

J'veux pas voir derrière

Puisque j'en viens."

 _Baz trailed his cool touch down my cheek._ "Vivement demain...," _he sang, ending the line with a sweet waver. I dipped my head down to catch the sounds with my lips._

_God, I love him...._

✧☾✧

Days pass, filled with nothing important. Chores. Going on walks when it's not raining. Sitting under the awning in the garden when it's drizzly but otherwise nice.

There's a good deal of lounging on the sofa and scrolling channels or playing Xbox. I find a Formula One game downloaded on the console, so I start playing a lot of that. My dreams involve car chases for the next few nights. It's pretty fun. In the last one, I was driving even though I don't actually know how to drive, and Baz was screaming instructions at me as we tore away into the night while a Ferrari convertible stuffed with harpies was hot on our tail. I woke up laughing from the thrill of it.

The days themselves are fucking boring, though.

The Mage doesn't call, and the Humdrum doesn't show up again.

I wish I could fill my days with dream-Baz. Even when I manage to nod off on the couch, I get startled awake by something, so I can never catch a glimpse of him. The only time I get with him in the daylight is through reminiscing.

Sometimes I catch myself crashing my racecar because I've zoned out.

School starts up again soon. I should try to break myself out of this habit of thinking of Baz all the time.

But when have I ever been able to do that?

✧☾✧

_I woke up slowly, groaning and stretching. I was in the passenger seat of Baz's car as he drove us through country roads lined with forest. The leaves were turning, and the air coming in through my cracked window was pleasantly crisp._

_Baz gave me a brief smile and lifted his hand off the gear-shift in offering. I threaded my fingers through his, and he brought my hand to his mouth for a long press of his lips against my knuckles. There was a golden band glinting around his ring finger. I looked down at my own left hand to find a matching silver band on mine._

_"Are we nearly there yet?" I asked, even though I didn’t remember where we were going._

_"Almost."_

_Some undefinable amount of time later, I suddenly realized we were no longer in the car. Instead, we were carrying luggage into a cabin and being greeted by Baz's stepmum._

_"Perfect timing, doves; I just set out lunch." She gave Baz and me a kiss on the cheek._

_"Thank you, mother," Baz said as he let me tug him further into the cabin to search out the food._

_Baz's dad was already seated at the table with a young woman who I suppose was meant to be Baz's sister, though she was older than the last time I dreamt of her. (We were all older.) There was a whole pile of sandwiches laid out in the centre of the table, along with several place settings. Baz's stepmum joined us, and we ate together, chatting about whatever. Baz's fangs were out as he ate, though I only caught sight of them now and then since he mostly kept a hand over his mouth. Even so, he seemed comfortable—everyone did. I was, as well._

_It felt like family. Like this was properly normal for us._

_At some point, we wound up in the woods behind the cabin as night was falling. I don't know how it happened, but we were all in ridiculously posh Continental shooting clothes, and Malcolm was offering up three hunting rifles. I took one and Baz's sister took another. His stepmum tucked a cap onto his sister's head, then waved us off._

_"I've never used one of these before," I said, holding the gun all wrong._

_"Oh, good," his sister delighted, "that means Father and I won't even need to break a sweat to beat you."_

_"It's a competition, is it?"_

_The Grimm siblings laughed. "You know Mordelia loves to make everything into a competition," Baz said._

_Mordelia grinned, then she pulled Malcolm one way and Baz pulled me in the other. I liked the idea of a competition—I also liked the way Baz's legs looked in his snug tweed trousers and tall boots._

_I tilted my head to the side, watching Baz’s arse as he confidently strode ahead. "Where's your rifle?" I asked, though I had better things on my mind._

_"I don't need one," Baz tutted. "I'm a vampire, remember?"_

_And then he was off, taking down rabbits before I could even spot them. It was like nothing I had ever seen before, his speed and strength. Baz's clothes were impeccably tailored, and he had not a hair out of place—he was a walking advertisement for the perfect English gentleman—and yet once he flipped that vampire switch, his body visibly thrummed with ferocity. I half expected to see the fabric bulge around his unleashed power._

_He was terrifyingly wonderful._

_I literally swooned, leaning against a tree to catch my breath. My own body was thrumming with desire._

_"Come here," I croaked. "Now."_

_Baz straightened up and gave me a smirk. "Need something?" he drawled around his fangs. He hadn't spilt a drop of blood._

_"You. I need you."_

_He could have been on me in an instant, but instead, Baz took his time walking my way, shoulders back, gait long and confident. The moment he was within my reach, I grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket, dragging his body flush to mine. (My rifle must have disappeared.)_

_"So fucking hot," I growled. Then I pulled him into a deep kiss, urging Baz to crush me against the tree with his weight._

_I lost myself in the feel of his strong hands and heated mouth, and I did my best to give as good as I got. We were sloppy and more than a little bit desperate, and the feel of his fangs against my tongue made me_ ache _._

_Eventually, Baz broke the kiss. I feverishly hoped he was going to put his fangs to further use, but instead he pressed tender lips to my forehead and whispered, "Daphne's coming."_

_I grumbled and bucked my hips against his. "We're married—I think your mum knows we snog."_

_"This is a bit more than snogging," Baz chuckled. He trailed his fingers down the front of my body as he pulled away. "Now, adjust your trousers, love, and at least_ pretend _like you helped me catch dinner."_

✧☾✧

I start my day by doing the laundry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gorgeous art courtesy [imhellakitty](https://imhellakitty.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr 🖤🖤🖤


	8. Chapter 8

I wake up, and something feels wrong.

I can't place it. I look at the clock: half-past six. Earliest I've woken in a while.

I roll over, trying to go back to sleep, but I can't. I feel ... off. Not in the usual way.

It's not long before I give in, get up, and carry on with my day. The weird _wrong_ feeling stays with me all morning. I never manage to put my finger on it.

That night, I dream that Baz and I brought our cat to the vet. Her name was Minty, which is the name of Agatha's Normal friend, so that's fucked. She was cute—the cat, I mean. Tubby and ginger. I'm not sure why she was at the vet. Nothing too traumatic—Baz and I were teasing each other, so Minty must've been all right. I'm surprised we didn't have some sleek black cat named Faust. Maybe we did—maybe Faust was at home, waiting for us to return with Minty.

A dog would be nice. I wonder if Baz likes dogs. Dream-Baz, I mean. Maybe tonight we'll have a dog. A golden retriever named Bowie. We can bring him with us to the hunting lodge.

It's these kinds of stupid, useless thoughts that get me through the day.

The following morning, I feel it again: _wrong._

I glare at the ceiling, and I think.

I try to remember last night's dream. Sometimes I have to work hard for it, sometimes it doesn't hit me until later in the day. Nothing ever came to mind two days ago. And nothing comes to me today, either.

I don't think about it.

That night, I dream of Baz fighting alongside me against a threat at the club. It was supposed to be a basilisk, though it sort of looked like a bear with scales, which is definitely not right. We had to duel him in tennis, which dream-me is pretty okay at, thankfully. Baz was brilliant, of course. I liked watching him, and it felt good to fight on the same side as him. I especially liked how, once everything was said and done, he pushed me up against the court's fence with fire in his eyes and made me even more breathless. I don't remember the specifics of what he did to me, but the state I'm in when I wake up is evidence enough.

Then, the following morning, I wake up early again, all off-kilter. The sunrise feels ominous.

I recognize what the problem is:

I didn't dream of Baz. The spell is wearing off.

I feel the realization come on fast. Heat rushes through me as my insides go tight.

I jump up and go for a walk before I set my bed on fire.

It's been two months since I cast the spell. My fuck-ups have never lasted this long before. I'd stopped thinking it was even possible for it to wear off at this point. I figured I'd be cursed forever.

Seems not.

I should be happy. This has been torture. Now things can go back to normal.

There's a light drizzle starting up, so I duck into a Greggs and buy myself breakfast. I eat my omelette roll huddled under the awning, watching the sky grow darker. It doesn't look like it will pass, so I trudge back to the care home in the rain.

Then I get on with my day as best I can.

I go to bed early.

I wake up early.

I don't dream of Baz.

* * *

Three days since I last saw him.

I get super fucking good at FIFA and the F1 game.

I should be happy.

✧☾✧

_I fiddled with my tie—probably had been fiddling with it for a while. It wouldn't lay straight no matter how hard I tried. Not usually something I care about, but I was standing near the refreshment table at the Yuletide Ball, watching people pair up, and I knew that I had to get into the fray before I was left without a dance partner._

_The entire event was gorgeous: the lights, the decorations, the students in their trim suits and flowing dresses. There was music and laughter, building up more and more as couples began to take their places for the first dance._

_A dance I was going to miss. I scowled at my tie as I failed to wrangle it. The more I touched it, the worse it got. Like it was spiting me. Or maybe cursed. Just my luck for my clothes to be cursed the one time I tried to look my best. Who I was trying to look good for, I didn't know—until an elegant hand unfurled in my field of vision._

_"Is your dance card full?"_

_I dragged my gaze along the arm stretched out before me, over the shimmering blue suit fabric, following the line of a perfectly knotted pewter tie all the way up to Baz's devastatingly handsome face. Seeing him made everything else fade to insignificance._

_"It is, actually," I told him._

_Baz dropped his hand and cleared his throat. "I see."_

_"You know what every slot's filled with?" I grinned and offered him my hand instead. "Your name."_

_Baz lifted a brow. "Forgery, then? And here I thought you were the good guy." He tried to set his hand in mine, but I yanked it away._

_"See, this is why I filled it in with pencil," I teased while holding my hand out of reach. "So I could erase it if you chose to be a prick."_

_"I'd hate to make you go through all that trouble." Baz lunged, snatching up my wrist and tugging me close, his other arm circling around my waist like a steel band. "I'll spare everyone else the misfortune of crushed toes and accept the burden of being your dance partner all night."_

_I curled my free hand around the back of his neck and smiled even wider. "What a hero. I'll give you a foot rub later to make it up to you."_

_"Deal."_

_Baz whisked us onto the dance floor. Somehow, with Baz's lead, I knew all the right steps. We moved together with ease, none of the other dancers in our way as we flowed from one song to the next. The lights were warm, making the tinsel decorations glitter like stars. It was as if we were in our own little universe. We were a perfect match, and it felt so fucking good._

_Kissing Baz also felt good. We were doing that suddenly, up on the ramparts, with the real stars surrounding us. I was seated on the stone walkway, my back secure against the parapet, and Baz was in my lap. I rubbed my hands over his strong thighs on either side of me. He hummed and dipped my head back to kiss me deeper, his fingers then trailing down my jaw and my neck. (He must have opened my collar at some point. My cursed tie was long gone.) I shivered from his touch and tugged him closer._

_"Cold?" he murmured._

_"Not at all. You?"_

_Baz shook his head, then stared down at me fondly. Light twinkled in the metallic sheen of his suit like a blanket of starlight. I was so in love with him in that moment, I feared my chest would crack open with the force of it._

_"I love you," he breathed, as if he read my mind. (Can vampires do that?)_

_"What...?"_

_"I love you."_

_"You love me...?"_

_"For a long time."_

_I reached up to sink my fingers into his hair. I didn't know what to do. I couldn't speak—I didn't know what to say. There were no words for it. Letting my emotions burst like an exploding star didn't seem like a good idea, either._

_So, I did the one thing I trusted myself with: I pulled him down into a kiss, and I silently swore to both of us that I would never let him go. That was a promise I felt confident making._

✧☾✧

When I wake up, the first thing I feel is immeasurable relief.

I dreamt of Baz.

I can still feel the slide of his lips and the weight of him in my arms. His whispered _'I love you'_ is tingling in my ears. I close my eyes and hold my breath, trying to keep the moment with me as long as possible.

It's gone all too soon. The rain outside my window has grown loud, flushing away all the good until the ache in my chest is no longer caused by adoration but rather by dread.

_'I love you,'_ he said. _'For a long time.'_

I swipe at the wetness on my cheeks, and the rain keeps falling.


	9. Chapter 9

I'm lying in bed and listening to the heavy thump of droplets against the window. The charming rain showers have turned into thunderstorms. Lightning flashes in the distance. I'm trying to ignore how fucking humid it is in here. I'm sweating, and the air is so thick, it makes even the simple act of breathing a chore.

I want to sleep, but I'm scared. I haven't had a dream of Baz in four nights now. It's never been this long.

It's for the best, I remind myself. Once the spell fades completely, I'll be free of dream-Baz. I can go back to Watford next week with a clearer head. Seeing the real Baz again is going to be hard enough as is. To keep on dreaming of the fake Baz I've conjured up, only to wake to my arsehole of a roommate each day would be more torment than I can handle.

It's for the best.

I should be happy.

But I don't _want_ the dreams to stop.... They're the only thing I have.

No—I don't have them. They're not real.

I press the heels of my hands against my eyes and take shallow breaths of wet air.

_It's for the best, it's for the best, don't think, just sleep, sleep like a normal person, you don't want to see Baz anyway, he's a villain, you're the hero, it's not real, it's for the best—_

I toss and turn for a few more hours before finally succumbing to sleep.

✧☾✧

_I opened my eyes. I thought I was in my room at the care home._

_Dark and damp. That's what was all around me._

_The sound of water._

_I pushed myself off the bed—except it wasn’t my bed. I was on the ground. Lumpy rocks. The sound of water was far away. It wasn't rain—it was sloshing._

_When I strained to hear other sounds, it got overwhelming. I swayed in the disorienting space. It took me a long while to register that I could hear ragged breathing. It was so similar to the water, the two sounds nearly melded together in my head. It was all around me, rough and wet._

_"Who's there?" I called out._

_Everything went silent and still, like a held breath._

_"Simon...?"_

_I spun around, and there he was in the darkness._

_"Baz!"_

_He was kneeling on the stones. I rushed to him, crouching down and taking his shoulders. Baz stared at me with wide eyes. Water streamed down his cheeks. Blood streamed down the side of his head._

_"What happened to you?"_

_Baz's gaze was so far away. "You— Simon—"_

_"I'm here," I told him. I smoothed back his hair. It was sticky with blood._

_His attention snapped into focus. Baz clutched the front of my shirt with both hands. "Simon," he gasped as if he only just fully understood I was there. "You have to find me."_

_"I did, I'm here," I told him again. I rubbed away the wetness on his cheeks with my thumbs. "I'm here, Baz."_

_"No," he insisted, "you're not. You have to find me. Something happened." Baz's eyes were hard and haunted. Fresh tears rushed forth, so I kept wiping them away. "I've been kidnapped. They've taken me somewhere. I don't know where. Or who. Or_ why— _" His voice cracked. "You have to find me."_

_"How can I find you when you're right here?"_

_Baz clutched my shirt tighter. His words came out more desperate—he was nearly sobbing, "I'm_ not _. Please. I'm trapped. Please. Please find me. I can't do this. I need you. Please,_ please— _"_

_My hands were dripping with his endless tears. I might have been crying, as well. It was getting hard to see. I could barely hear him as the sloshing sound of water grew more deafening._

_"I can't," I said again. I'm not sure if it was a shout or a whisper—the water was too loud. "I can't!"_

_"Please—I'm begging you!"_

_Water surged between us. I felt him slipping away. "I can't find you, Baz. It's just a dream!"_

_The world went completely dark, and for a moment, all was calm._

_Baz's reply felt like it was right inside my head:_

_"Simon ... what if it isn't?"_

✧☾✧

I gaze into the shadowy corner in my room. It's a grey morning. Rain keeps on pitter-pattering outside. The sound is mostly drowned out by the echo of dream-Baz's words rattling around in my skull.

_What if it isn't, what if it isn't—_

I'm desperate, is what it is. I'd rather dream up Baz being kidnapped and in need of saving than admit none of the past two and a half months has been real. That by this time next week, I'll have to look him in the eye and accept that our summer of romance never happened.

I'm _fucked_.

* * *

Despite how tired I am, I barely sleep for the rest of the week. I don't dream at all. Nothing worth remembering, anyway. Nothing with Baz in it.

As if that isn't bad enough, the storms never let up. Each time I hear the sloosh of water in the gutters, I'm reminded of that horrible nightmare.

Hell of a thing for this whole cursed dream world to go out in a fucking deluge.

I spent so much of the summer burning up. I'd wake every morning and worry I was about to end it in flames.

I was wrong.

It ends in rain.

* * *

I sign myself out of the care home. I ignore the office ladies whispering behind my back. It happens every year, I'm used to it. As I leave this shitty, rainy town behind, it hits me that I'll never have to do this again.

Last care home. Last trek back to Watford.

After this year, I'm completely on my own. (If I live through it.) Well, I'm mostly on my own already. The Mage didn't send quite enough money to cover my fare. I can't even drum up annoyance about it.

I shouldn't let my guard down, but by the time I've hopped off my second bus and got settled on the train, I'm absolutely knackered. The rocking of the carriage lulls me to sleep.

About an hour or so later, I'm jostled awake. There's a split-second where I assume it's an attack—a bonety hunter or something—but it's only someone hitting into my seat with their bag. I'm too wired to fall asleep again for the rest of the trip, even though the fatigue is heavy in my limbs.

The further south we go, the less rain there is, though the sky stays overcast. I hope it clears up in time for the welcome back picnic.

Once I'm on the final leg of the trip, I pull out my mental list of everything I've not let myself miss over the summer. Magic, and Penny, and sour cherry scones. Thoughts of Baz slip in even though I keep pushing them aside. The knot in my chest pulls tighter.

Not thinking about Baz has always been impossible, hasn't it? He's tainted my list routine more than ever.

How am I going to keep all of this bottled up? I want to burst just from the thought of seeing him again. That first sneer of his each year used to feel comforting, didn't it? Another piece of coming home.

I'm worried our room isn't going to feel like home any more. It's going to feel like another prison. Where I don't want to sleep, where I can't let my guard down. He's going to sneer at me and say something vicious, and I'm going to fucking shatter.

* * *

The gates at Watford have security this year. The Mage's men are discriminatingly searching students' luggage. One of the Men—Premal, Penny's brother—casts intention spells on me to make sure I'm not the Humdrum. The whole thing makes me feel sick.

I head straight for the turret.

I close the door behind me, leaning back against the old wood as I take it all in. Our room at the top of Mummers is here like it always is the first day back: the beds have fresh sheets, there are new uniforms set out, and everything smells too clean—inert. I open the windows. The sun is trying to peek through the clouds. Dust floats through the air, and the scent from the moat wafts up to meet me. I try not to think about how many times I've dreamt about Baz falling in.

My clothes are covered in dirt and blood from the goblin taxi driver that nearly took me out on the way here. (Premal tried to spell me clean, but I didn't let him. I hate when people do that.) Beheading the goblin gave me a nice burst of adrenaline, at least. I use what little of that's remaining to carry me through taking a shower and pulling on my new uniform. The fit's perfect, of course.

There's time before tea, so I lie back on my bed, closing my eyes. The mattress is lumpy and wonderful. I breathe deep and try to catch a whiff of cedar and bergamot.

* * *

I spend the afternoon with Penny. She keeps questioning me about my dream spell (and clucking at me for not taking notes as she instructed). I don't know what to tell her. She probably won’t understand if I say _'it wore off, and now I'm left mourning a relationship with my nemesis that only happened in my head'_.

Penny can tell I'm in a funk. She doesn't push it—she knows the summers are rough on me to start. We sit out on the Great Lawn and enjoy what glimpses of sunshine we can get. We watch the overwhelmed first years stumble about as they take in Watford for the first time.

We talk about our summers. Penny tells me the Mage tightened his grip on the Old Families, and that numerous tiny dead spots opened, and I tell her I know. She tells me the holes slowed down and have maybe stopped altogether, but her dad isn't sure. I tell her about the Humdrum, and she's appalled no one told her sooner, especially given Premal knew. All of that's easier to talk about than the Baz stuff.

I return to the room after dinner. Baz still hasn't arrived, which is a relief. I'm glad to have a night alone here to properly appreciate it. My first sleep back at Watford is always the best. I'll wake up in the morning refreshed, I'll eat as much as I want for breakfast, and by the time I have to face Baz, I'll be back to normal.

_You're home,_ I tell myself as I curl up in bed, wearing my new school-issued pyjamas. _This is your last year at Watford. Enjoy it._

_You're home,_ I repeat, but I don't yet feel convinced of it by the time I drift off to sleep.

✧☾✧

_Dark. Noise. Rushing, rushing. Water. Not just water. Something more irregular. Overhead._

_Breathing. Panicked breathing. Far away._

_Suffocating._

_Can't see. Can't move. Can't speak._

_Soft sounds underneath it all, whispering directly into my brain. A litany of 'please, please, please'._

✧☾✧

I wake to the feel of a cold chill running through me. At first, I think Baz is back. I can sense eyes on me, and I'm certain I heard someone whispering my name. I spell the lights on without meaning to—that happens sometimes—but there's nothing there. Only bone-deep cold.

I gather my blankets tight around me and go back to sleep.

* * *

The next morning, I spend most of breakfast considering telling Penny about my dreams. Only the relevant stuff, mind. Like Baz bleeding from the head and telling me to save him.

I can't come up with a way to phrase it that doesn't sound like I've completely gone around the bend. Maybe I have. What is it I think is happening, exactly? That Baz is somehow communicating with me through my dreams? That doesn't make any sense.

I know what Penny will say—the same thing I've told myself. That I'm desperate. That I'm conjuring up damsel-in-distress scenarios for Baz. I used to have dreams about Agatha like that now and then. Never as scary, probably because I knew I would always save her. I’m very good at it. (Though she might not agree.)

Turns out, it might not be desperation:

Of all things to happen, a ghost shows up in the dining hall. It's a Visiting, Penny tells me. The Veil is lifting, and those with unfinished business can come through to say their piece. It only happens every twenty years. I've never heard about it until now.

There's a chill that accompanies the Visiting. It feels _exactly_ like what woke me up last night.

Maybe ... maybe my dream was real—sort of. Maybe Baz is talking to me through the Veil. Penny says it's only for dead folk, but wouldn't _un_ dead folk go by different rules? (Fucking hell, he better not be _dead_ -dead.) (No, he wouldn't be asking me to _save_ him if he were already dead.) (Right?)

God.

Is this the theory I'm going with? That Baz is communicating with me in my sleep from halfway through the Veil?

I really have gone around the bend.

* * *

I wake up in the middle of the night again. It's the same as before—there's a chill that pierces my marrow and the odd sensation like someone's watching me. This time, I'm positive I heard someone saying my name. I call out for Baz, but he doesn't answer.

I close the window, bundle up, and go back to sleep.

I don't dream of him.


	10. Chapter 10

Baz doesn't make it to Watford in time for the welcome back picnic.

Or the first day of classes.

Or the third.

I haven't dreamt of him again, but the suffocating feeling remains. Plus, I keep being awoken by cold and whispers.

His mates won't tell me where he is. Agatha hasn't heard anything, and she begs me not to get her involved. The Mage won't return my messages.

Over lunch on the third day of the term, I try to explain why I'm freaking out to Penny. I can't get it to make any sense. I'm stammering, and my magic has been unruly since hearing Baz's name go unanswered at morning register _again_. I can't be sitting around here trying to _talk_ when Baz might be—

"So what you're telling me," Penny mercifully interrupts, "is you think Baz is talking to you in your sleep?"

I nod.

"Through the Veil?"

I shrug.

"Could this have anything to do with the spell you cast at the end of last year?"

"I don't know," I choke out.

"Right." Penny adjusts her glasses and peers at me. "And you think he's been ... kidnapped?"

" _Yeah_."

"Let's say it's true—what are _we_ supposed to do about it, Si? Surely his parents have been contacted for a ransom of some kind. You don't kidnap someone with such a high profile without asking for a ransom."

"It's going on two weeks since I had that first dream," I snap. "If they were asked to pay up, then why haven't they done it yet?"

"Maybe they have done. Baz could be home right now, safe and sound."

I shake my head. "He'd be here. He wouldn't miss school. Especially not our last year."

"Eighth year is optional."

I thump the table, hard—our plates rattle. "I don't care! He'd be here!"

"Take it easy." Penny reaches out to give my forearm a squeeze even though my magic is starting to shimmer. I work harder to rein it in—I don't want to hurt her. "All we can do is wait. Perhaps if you have another dream, you can ask him for details."

I set my teeth. "It doesn't exactly work like that. And I'm not waiting."

Penny sighs like she knew I'd say that. "Unless we have something to go off of, no amount of finding spells will cut it."

"Water. There was running water close by. Not like pipes."

"Like a river, or the sea?"

I stuff some eggs into my mouth and think on that. I want to explain the different sounds to Penny, but it doesn't make sense even when I try to explain it to _myself_ in my head. Why are dreams so fucking _bizarre_?

Penny stays quiet, letting me think.

Rushing. Rumbling. Overhead ...

"Traffic," I blurt. I give the table another whack. "A bridge!"

Penny's eyes light up. "A bridge? You think he's being held captive under a bridge?"

"Yes!"

"Well, the Thames is our best bet, then, isn't it?"

* * *

The second lessons are done for the day, I sneak off campus by myself. Penny has a dinner with her family tonight. It's a new weekly thing they're doing. Bit of a strained dynamic between all of them lately—because of Premal and the Mage. I haven't paid it much attention, which makes me feel like a shit friend. I'll try to make it up to her the second this is all over.

Penny begged me to wait until the weekend so that she could come with and help, but I can't. I can't leave Baz any longer than I already have done.

I take my chances with another taxi and head straight south for Kew Bridge. It's the nearest spot along the Thames from here, and it's pretty close to the club, as well. Penny and I figured it's as good a place as any to start.

I buy a cheap burner mobile like Penny instructed. Her mum made Penny smuggle a mobile into Watford this year. (Mrs. Bunce doesn't trust the Mage much any more.) (I'm not sure how I feel about that.) I send Penny a quick text so she has my number. She texts back _'good luck'_.(She cast that on me before I left, too. It's a powerful spell.) (When it works.)

I walk along the river and make my way east, casting every finding spell I can. Two hours later, I'm plodding around under Albert Bridge when I get another text from Penny. It's two phone numbers she said she'd collect for me, one for Malcolm Grimm and one for Fiona Pitch.

I drag myself up the street in search of a corner shop. I get a sandwich and a big bottle of water, then I squat on the pavement, considering my options as I eat.

I'm not sure who I should call first. Or what I should say. Baz is closer with his aunt than his dad. Plus, Fiona lives somewhere in London, if I’m remembering right. But she's fucking terrifying. I don't want to talk to her....

Fiona picks up on the third ring. "Who is this?" she snaps.

"Oh, um, I, it's—"

" _Name_ ," she hisses. "Now!"

"S-Simon Snow!" This is a bad start.

"Snow? What the fuck do you want? How did you get my number?"

"I'm calling about, um, about Basilton—"

" _What did you do?"_

"No, n-nothing, I just— Is he—?" I definitely should have planned this better. "Is he with you?"

"I'm gonna wring your fucking neck, Chosen One," she snarls.

"He hasn't come to school," I babble. "I wanted— I mean— Is he okay?"

"Is this a joke to you?"

My sandwich is threatening to come back up. "He's ... he's missing, isn't he?"

Fiona barks out a wicked laugh. "You've got an impressive set of balls on you, kiddo, I'll give you that."

Fuck.

I mean. I knew he was missing. I've just spent two hours searching for him. I just ... I _hoped_...

I haul myself back towards the river—I have to keep moving. "L-listen, I want— I've got no part in it, all right?"

"That's rich. Gloat if you're going to gloat, you little shit. I'll curse you in ways you can't begin to fucking fathom—"

"I'm serious, Fiona! I'm out looking for him right now! I w-want—I want him _safe_. Work with me on this!" I hear Fiona take a long inhale, then she holds it, so I keep stammering on. "I had— This is going to sound weird, b-but I—I had a dream. And I think, I mean, I've got reason to think Baz was trying to ... to _talk_ to me. In the dream." Fiona exhales. (Pretty sure she's smoking.) "I know that sounds mental."

"I'm supposed to believe that the Mage's Heir had no part in Basil's kidnapping,"—my stomach drops when she confirms my worst fears with that word—"and that you serendipitously know he's in danger because he communed with you in a dream?"

I nod, and then I realize she can't see me. I manage an affirmative grunt.

Fiona laughs more heartily this time. "I wish I was smoking whatever it is you've got, boyo."

I kick at the kerb while I wait for the light. "I heard rushing water and traffic overhead in—in the dream. I think he's under a bridge. I'm working east along the Thames. I—"

" _Jesus Christ_."

"—could use your help, Fiona. If you could start at the other side, we could, um, cover more ground—meet in the middle?"

"You're serious," she mutters.

"Yeah. I am."

* * *

Fiona says she'll drop her car at Tower Bridge and work her way west on foot. She also threatens me a whole lot more, which is the least of my worries.

I pick up my pace and pour as much magic into my finding spells as I can without going off. I wish going off was an option—I wish going off would _help_. My magic's only good for destruction.

Hard to believe, but I'm glad Fiona's working with me on this. She's got better odds of finding him than I do.

I hope I've put her on the right path.

_We're coming, Baz._

_Hang on. Just a little bit longer...._

* * *

We were supposed to meet at Waterloo, but I get there ahead of schedule. Fiona sasses me over the phone for rushing things. How could I not? It's dark out by now, and I can't handle the thought of him spending another night in captivity.

Pretty sure I've made it to Blackfriars Bridge before Fiona, also. (She's being _too_ thorough if you ask me.) I shoot her a text to check her eta, then I try another finding spell.

At first, when I feel the tug in my chest, I figure I'm imagining it. It's a subtle thing. A snag.

I take a deep breath and cast **show me the way**. My magic rockets down my wand arm with a hot pulse of heat. It's so powerful, it yanks me forwards—and then I'm yanked more and _more—_

_He's here. Merlin fucking Almighty, he's actually here—!_

Now I'm definitely rushing. I summon the Sword of Mages as I scramble along the silt faster than my magic pulls me—I can already see where it's going to lead me. There's a hole in the bridge piling, lit up as if there's a spotlight shining on it. The tug in my chest burns more the closer I get.

I jam my wand into my waistband and send another text to Fiona: _“Hurry!”_ As I fumble to get my mobile back in my pocket, it falls to the ground—it doesn’t matter. I leave it and haul myself into the hole, skidding in the mud as I sink inside. It's cold, and damp, and completely dark save for the stream of my magic illuminating the way. I stumble over the mess of crumbled concrete and soggy newspapers as I'm reeled towards Baz. I still can't tell where he is exactly, but he's here somewhere—he _has_ to be.

"Baz!" I shove my way through another opening in a rocky wall, and I continue yelling his name. There's a noise building up behind me, like crunching gravel. I call his name again, and then there's a new sound in the direction I'm pointed in: thumping.

I squeeze through a tighter stone opening ... and laid before me is a coffin. It's glowing from my magic. Something is thumping on the lid from the inside.

No, not something—

_Baz._

I smash the lock with my sword and tear the lid off. It's only as I lay eyes on him that the reality of all this settles in. I was right, he was kidnapped, he was calling for me, he was alone and scared—

Of all the times to be right...!

"Simon...?" His voice is wrecked. But he _has_ a voice—he's _alive._

I pull Baz up, and he clings to my shirt. "It's okay," I say. The glow of my magic fades, leaving us in total blackness. I don't stop touching him, assuring him, "It's me, I'm here, Baz, I'm here now, you're safe."

Baz is weak, quivering as I brace him against me, holding on to dear life. He's saying something, but I can't hear it over the sound of scraping rocks, which has grown painfully loud. I need to get him out of here.

_**"Let there be light!"**_ I cast.

The spell doesn't work the way it ought to. The light blooms bright for only a few moments, which is just long enough for me to see that the stone opening I came through is gone. There's a new wall in our path—except it's not a wall at all, not really, because it's _moving._ Groaning and shambling towards us.

Then it goes dark again.

"Your wand?" I ask.

"I don't have it...!"

And my mobile’s on the ground outside.

Well, _shit_.

That awful grinding noise starts to sound a lot like words:

_"Back in coffin."_

_"Can't take him."_

I swipe my sword blindly at the encroaching wall. "Get back!" I yell. "We're leaving!"

_"Not yet,"_ one of the rocks rasps. _"Not time."_

Baz presses close to my side. "Are they ... numpties...?" he mumbles.

That explains the living-under-bridges bit. But why the fuck would numpties kidnap Baz?

I don't need to see it to know that the space around us keeps shrinking as the numpties close in. From what I remember, numpties are like huger, uglier trolls, but made more of wet cement than skin. I'm not sure how useful my sword is going to be against them. We're about to find out.

"Back off!" I hit something with my sword, and there's a cry like pebbles in a meat grinder.

_"Can't leave!"_ one on my left yells.

_"Make him angry,"_ groans another—from behind. Fuck, they're coming from behind, as well—

"Who?" Baz demands. "Who told you to kidnap me?"

I slash at something and inch us forwards.

_"Told us not to talk."_

“I’m telling you otherwise!”

Something’s squeezing my leg—I strike it and try to keep on.

_“Back in coffin.”_

_“Can’t leave!”_

I barely have enough room to flick my sword now. I manage a **get back** , and the numpties gnash at the force of it. We only gain a few steps of progress before they're on us again.

_"Take the vampire brat, he said,"_ one of them wails in my ear.

_"Hold him till the cold comes and stays, he said."_

"Who?"Baz insists in my other ear. His voice is getting more strained—they're crushing us. I can't move my sword any longer.

_**“Answer him!”**_ I scream, magic ripping out of me.

That’s not a spell, it shouldn’t work, yet there’s a clamour as the numpties all shout their answers at once: _“Magic one! Soft one! Green! One of you! Headstone!”_

“Headstone—?” Baz chokes.

It's too tight—my ribs are—

_**"Go to pieces!"**_ a woman shouts.

Baz's answering yell is mostly drowned out by the cacophony of dozens of avalanches all around us.

* * *

"Fucking numpties," Fiona mutters before casting another healing spell. "Seriously, Basil?"

I stare at him. I can't stop staring at him. He's bathed in moonlight and leaning against one of the red pilings left over from the old bridge. He's been cradling his wand to his chest ever since Fiona reunited him with it. He's wearing tennis whites, which Fiona immediately spelled clean. She's been casting non-stop. Cleaner than a whistle, no more greasy hair, and no visible injuries. Yet he's ...

"You look like shit," I say. It's the first thing I've said since we crawled out of the numpty lair.

Baz curls his lip at me. "You're one to talk."

He's probably right—I'm covered in mud and abrasions. Not to mention I always look pretty rough at the start of the term. Hair growing in oddly. Too skinny.

_Baz_ is too skinny. He looks ... frail.

"They didn't feed you enough," I say.

He looks away. "They didn't feed me, full stop."

" _What?"_

"Jesus wept," Fiona groans. "That's what you deserve for getting kidnapped by _fucking numpties_!"

I can't believe this. "You haven't eaten? In _two weeks_?"

Baz doesn't answer, which is answer enough.

" _Holy shit._ Have you drank? You need to drink." I thrust my wrist at his face. "Here."

Baz hisses and shoves my arm away. "Stop that, you maniac." He averts his gaze again. "They ... gave me a drink now and then." Fiona is glaring daggers at him, but Baz isn't deterred. "It wasn't very _good_ , but it was something."

Fiona huffs and pockets her wand. "Let's get out of here."

Baz nods, straightening up. "Take us to Watford, Fiona."

"Fuck that. I'm taking you to Maccies."

* * *

Fiona wanted us to walk back to her car, which is proper nutters. Baz is wiped, and he's dragging his left foot. I made her get us a taxi instead. The drive was the most awkward ten minutes of my life.

Now I'm gawking at her strange car and questioning what the hell I'm doing here.

"Back seat," Fiona snaps at Baz when he opens the passenger door.

Baz blinks at her. "What?"

"Front seat's for people who've never been kidnapped by bloody numpties, Jesus Christ, Baz."

I look at the back seat—if you can call it that. I start sputtering on Baz's behalf, but he gives in quickly, draping himself across the cramped bench. Fuck if he doesn't somehow make it look glamorous.

Fiona points her wand at me, and I tense. _**“Clean as a whistle!”**_ I shudder as her magic smears over me like hot grease. Feels awful. "Get in, Chosen One," Fiona orders, slamming her own door behind her.

I do, and I wonder if this is perhaps the stupidest thing I've ever done. Getting in a weird death-trap of a car driven by a woman who's been plotting my demise for years—more than Baz has done even.

Oh well. There's no way in hell I'm letting Baz out of my sight, not yet. I keep an eye on him through the rearview mirror.

"So," Fiona drawls once she's finished wriggling her car out of the cramped and likely-illegal parking spot she was in, "how did Boy Wonder over here know where to find you?"

"I told you that already," I cut in.

Fiona sneers. (The family resemblance is stronger than ever.) "I want to hear the answer from Basil."

In the mirror, I can see Baz close his eyes and tilt his head back. I hold my breath. "I told him," he says slowly.

"How?"

"Through a dream."

My pulse kicks up.

"How the fuck did you manage that?" Fiona asks.

"You came through the Veil," I blurt. "Right?"

"What?" Baz's reflection squints at me. "Crowley, you're daft. The Veil is for dead people."

"Well...," I say.

Baz _groans_. "Don't. Don't even put that idiocy into words."

"Our room was ice cold; there was definitely a Visiting," I insist.

"Not from me, there wasn’t.”

"Great." Fiona yanks us into a spot in the McDonald's car park. "I'll let you two take a minute to get your stories straight." She leaves us there and goes off to get Baz some food.

We're alone. And I've got no idea what to think.

A heavy silence hangs over us.

Suddenly, I twist around in my seat. Baz is lounging, trying to look cool. It's mostly working, damn him.

"I— You— It doesn't—" I'm sputtering, spilling over with confusion and questions. I finally manage to get the most important one out, one no one's asked him yet: "Are you okay?"

Baz's expression pinches for a brief moment, then he closes his eyes again. "Tip-top."

"You've been trapped in a coffin for two weeks."

"Thank you for the timeline."

"You can't possibly be okay."

Baz sets his jaw.

" _I'm_ not okay," I say.

At that, Baz opens his eyes to give me a pained look. "Simon ... I..." He clears his throat. "Thank you. Truly."

I almost reach for him. I can't—this isn't my Baz. (Sweet Morgana, listen to me— _'my Baz'_.) I squeeze my hands into fists. "How did—? I mean. Talking through dreams, that's not— How could—?"

Baz frowns. "Do you seriously not—?"

We both startle when Fiona flings open the door and throws a sack of delicious-smelling food into my lap. "One of those is for me," she says, sliding into her seat and sipping on a large fizzy drink. She tosses a bottle of water into the back for Baz.

"Are these all Big Macs?" I ask as I hand one to him.

"Duh." Fiona snaps her fingers at me expectantly, all while wrenching the car out of the spot and back onto the road—in reverse. I wait to hand over a burger until she's driving in the proper direction again.

"How many did you buy?" Baz mumbles between bites. He's holding a hand over his mouth. "Snow has an unfathomable appetite."

"Who said I bought any for Snow?"

"Fiona! He saved my life."

"Oh, stop it, I'm kidding!" Fiona groans. "I bought four; divvy them up how you want." I beam, immediately tearing into one. Fiona laughs. "Easy, Oliver Twist, I'm not helping if you choke."

We manage a solid fifteen minutes or so of friendly silence while we eat our Big Macs. (I make Baz eat two, slowly.) Not complete silence—Fiona's got music going. Bunch of old punk stuff I mostly don't recognize. It's only when we start heading south on the motorway that Baz speaks up.

"Where are we going? Take us to Watford."

"I'm taking you home."

"I've missed a week of school!"

"Three days, actually," I say.

"Shut up," Baz hisses. "Take us to Watford!"

Fiona rolls her eyes. "I'm taking you to Malcolm and that's that, boyo. They're worried sick. And you need time to recover."

"I'm fine!"

"You don't _look_ fine," I mutter.

Baz kicks the back of my seat. "Fuck off, Snow!"

"Oi!" Fiona yells. "You scuff my car, I'll make you walk home."

Baz crosses his arms and scowls at the back of her head. (It's kind of cute.)

"Besides," she continues, "like hell I'm dropping you right back into that bastard's clutches."

"Who?" I ask.

"The Mage!"

I turn in my seat, swivelling my head between the two of them. "Don't tell me you think the Mage is the one who had Baz kidnapped?"

"Obviously!" Fiona cries.

I gawk at Baz. "Do you agree with her? You really think...?" My voice is unsteady.

Baz's expression is grim. "Who else? You heard the numpties, Simon...."

I swallow. "They were vague."

He closes his eyes again. "We're not talking about this.”

I face front and thump the glove compartment with the side of my fist. Fiona half-heartedly whacks me over the head.

None of us say a thing for the rest of the drive.


	11. Chapter 11

Arriving at the Pitch estate is a mess. Daphne is in tears—she whisks Baz away to his room immediately. I’m held back by his dad who drags me into the study so that we “don’t wake the children”. (I guess Baz really does have siblings....) Then he goes through a whole interrogation scene with me. Fiona chimes in on occasion. (Mostly, she just watches and sips scotch.)

I manage to convince them I had no part in it, even though I still can't explain the whole Baz-spoke-to-me-in-my-dreams thing very well. They insist the kidnapping was the Mage's doing. I can't figure out how to argue on his behalf—or if I even want to—so I don't.

Eventually, Malcolm allows me to go see Baz.

Ugh, I shouldn't be thinking of them as Malcolm and Daphne, should I? We’re not close like that. We’re not family. We’re on opposite sides. (Maybe. I’m not sure anymore.)

One of their servants leads me through the halls, up the massive staircase with built-in statues, and to the tall arched door of Baz’s bedroom. The manor is a lot like how I dreamt it, dark and gothic and creepy. I wonder what their doorbell actually sounds like.

It's only been a bit over an hour or so since Daphne— _Mrs. Grimm_ pulled him away, but it's such a relief to see Baz again. He's sitting up in his bed with his stepmum perched on the mattress at his side. His hair is damp, and the room smells of his body wash. My stomach swoops. Merlin, I missed this scent....

Mrs. Grimm gives Baz's hand a squeeze then gets up. "Get some rest, dove," she says gently. I move away from the door where I've been stalling, and she smiles at me as she goes past. "I'll make up a guest room for you, Simon."

"Oh, I, um—" She ignores my stammering, closing the door behind her with a soft click. I bluster at Baz instead. "I don't ... need to stay...."

"It's the middle of the night. You're staying," he says.

I gulp. And stand there. In the middle of his bedroom. (His vaguely familiar and almost comically creepy bedroom.) I don't know what to do. Or say.

Baz sighs and gestures to a couch near the fireplace. (Who has a fireplace in their bedroom?) "Take a seat."

That's easy enough. I sit on the couch and fix my eyes on his elaborate bedposts.

"We should..." Baz clears his throat. "We should probably talk about it."

"About what?"

"The ... dreams."

"Oh. Right, yeah. How did you come through—?"

"Don't you dare mention the Veil again," Baz cuts in.

"Then _how_?"

"Snow. We've been sharing dreams for _months_."

I goggle at him. "No, we haven't." Baz gives me a flat look, and my blood starts rushing in my ears. “We haven’t!”

"Do you legitimately believe us running into each other in Liverpool was a coincidence?"

"You said you were there on reconnaissance."

Baz knocks his head back against the headboard. "I could have gone anywhere up north. I picked Liverpool specifically for you. And then you acted like you wanted me _dead_ —more than usual!"

"I did!" I yelp. "You were rubbing it in my face!"

"Rubbing _what_?"

"That—that the dreams ... weren't real."

Baz frowns. "They were. I visited to prove it to myself."

I dig my fingers into the couch cushions as my vision swims. "Then why didn't you say something?"

"Because you made me doubt it," Baz groans. "And then the bloody Humdrum showed up, and—"

"You should have at least—!"

_"I was scared!”_ he shouts.“I'm _always_ scared! I didn't want to lose you. Lose—" Baz falters, squeezing his eyes shut. "...lose what little we had...."

My throat feels dry and tight. "This is a trick," I say.

"What good would that do?"

"Psychological warfare!"

"Says the man who cast an illegal mind-altering spell."

"You're mad— It's not possible— You—"

"You can't _actually_ be this thick!" Baz gripes. "Use your unprecedented magickal abilities to summon two brain cells and rub them together just this once."

I launch myself off the sofa. "I'm not listening to this."

As I stomp across the room towards Baz's bedroom door, he calls out "wait". I keep on, reaching for the knob, but I see Baz trying to drag himself out of bed.

"Stop it," I bark at him over my shoulder. The idiot's still so weak. "Get back in bed."

"I'm getting my violin," Baz snaps. His movements don't have nearly as much strength behind them as his voice. He struggles to get to his feet, guiding himself with his massive bedposts.

"The hell you are." It doesn't take much for me to nudge Baz back onto his mattress. "You need to be resting, not playing fucking Tchaikovsky or whatever."

Baz sneers, though he otherwise doesn't resist me as I press him against his pillows by the shoulders. "That's not what I want to play, you ignoramus. I want—"

"I'm going to spell you to this bloody bed if you get up again!" Baz flinches—I pull away, backing up towards the door. "Just—just sleep, yeah?"

I've barely turned my back to him when I'm shocked still by music—by Baz's _voice_ :

_"Stars shining bright above you_

_Night breezes seem to whisper 'I love you'_

_Birds singing in the sycamore tree_

_Dream a little dream of me..."_

Baz's singing trails off.

I stare at him, my mouth hanging open.

He clears his throat and ducks his chin down, embarrassed. I don't know what the fuck he's embarrassed for—his voice is incredible.

I stare at him, and I sputter. "You really can sing."

" _That's_ the part you're focussed on?"

"I thought I dreamt it...."

"You did ... but that doesn't make it any less real."

I stare at him, and I see everything all at once. All of my dozens and dozens of dreams with him flood my mind, like my life is flashing before my eyes. Except I'm not dying. Or maybe I am. It kind of _feels_ like I'm dying. Maybe _I'm_ the one halfway through the Veil—

I'm panicking.

"You— I— _We_ —"

Baz crinkles his nose—the room smells like smoke. "Snow—"

"I'm going to bed!" I announce way too loudly, then I slam Baz's bedroom door behind me.

* * *

I don't know what to think.

I'm pacing the grounds outside Pitch Manor, fighting against going off. They probably wouldn’t be too fond of me burning their forest to the ground, but it's better than destroying the house.

It can't be true. This has to be a plot, even though I've got no idea _how_. Baz is always plotting, he's always—

_'I'm always scared.'_

Scared to lose me ...

_'I don't want to live in a world without you in it, Simon.'_

Merlin and Morgana.

It's not possible. Right? How could my prick nemesis be the same person as the gentle Baz from my dreams? The real Baz isn't soft like that.

Sure, he's just as fit.

And as smart and as skilled—with sport and music.

Real-Baz is an arsehole, though.

In an almost-funny kind of way, admittedly.

That doesn’t change the fact that he’s a villain and a monster.

No … he’s not. He’s just a boy....

But he's cunning and selfish!

Ruthless!

And powerful, and graceful, and loyal ... and wicked in all the best ways ... and ...

_Oh._


	12. Chapter 12

I survey Baz's ornate bedroom door and consider knocking. I shouldn't have to knock, right? I mean, we've been roommates for seven years. Sleeping in the same room as Baz is pretty par for the course.

It's not like I'm sneaking into his room because I'm desperate to sleep next to him or anything. I mean, it's not my fault the room Mrs. Grimm set me up in is fucking haunted.

I don't look at him as I settle down on the couch with the blankets and pillow I took from the guest bedroom. I don't _deliberately_ look at him, anyway. He's the easiest thing to look at, is all. I mean— _look_ at him.

Smoke and mirrors, I'm pitiful.

I roll over and press my face into the back cushions. Everything smells like Baz. I'm pretty sure these pyjamas his stepmum left out for me are his. I'm surrounded by him.

It's easy to fall asleep to the faint sound of Baz's breathing.

Soft, soft huffs ...

✧☾✧

_Everything was pitch black. It was oppressive, pushing in from all sides, making it hard to move even though there wasn't anything there. I felt disoriented. I couldn't tell up from down as I struggled in the void._

_I wasn't sure where I was trying to go. I didn't have a plan. Still, I kept pushing forwards—or whatever felt like forwards._

_Then I heard muffled crying. The terrified sort, when you can't hold it in any longer even though it would only make things worse for you if someone overheard._

_I knew it was Baz somehow. Not like I've ever heard him crying before. But who else would I be dreaming of?_

_The sound was a good guide. It was the epicentre to this crushing hole we were in. I let Baz draw me to him with his every panicked inhale._

_He was curled in on himself when I finally found him. He looked so small ... as if he were eleven again._

_"Baz."_

_He lifted his head and stared at me with the rawest emotion I've ever seen. It felt like a harpoon to my heart. I reached for him, drawn in with more intensity than the Crucible had inflicted. This time, he didn't ignore my outstretched hand._

_"Simon," he gasped, clamping his hand in mine and yanking me to him._

_"Yeah, I'm here." I wrapped my arms around his shoulders. "You're okay. I've got you." Baz burrowed against me, and I kept murmuring into his hair, "You're not alone. I found you. You're safe. You're safe, Baz. You're home. You're in your bed. You're okay."_

_Baz's trembling subsided. While the darkness around us was no longer as suffocating or confusing, it still felt like we were in a deep, deep pit._

_I'm not sure how long I held him or what other things I said. At some point, Baz leant back from me with questioning eyes._

_"Do you believe me now...?" he asked._

_"What?"_

_"That this is real." Baz pressed his fingertips against my chest. "We're here together."_

_"Baz, I...”_

_His fingers hooked in my collar. "What do I have to do to make you believe it?" He was pleading, and it made something in me get all twisted up. "Do you ... not want to believe it...?"_

_"No!" I blurted. "I do. I want it so fucking much—"_

_"Then why...?"_

_"Because ... I..."_

_I watched his hand in my shirt. Tugging me. Churning my insides. I felt the squeeze of the emptiness all around us as too many words filled me up._

_"Simon?"_

_I was a glass bottle fit to burst, and Baz's pain was the corkscrew. I was at his mercy. He tore me open, and everything I've been bottling up for weeks (months) (years) spilt out, bright and expansive. It flooded the space until white-hot light was all we could see._

_"Because I'm afraid, too!" I confessed. "I don't trust it. I don't get the things I want—I don't get to have good things like that— I can't— It's not—! Dreams don't come true for me, Baz!"_

_He touched my cheek. Such a simple gesture, yet it calmed me thoroughly. The painful light faded into a comforting sort of dim. Baz never took his eyes off me. His gaze was inescapable._

_"Maybe," he whispered, "this one does."_

_The air shimmered. Not like a summer heatwave or explosive magic. It was something precious and beautiful. Like diamonds. No ... like stars._

_I didn't know what to say._

_I took Baz's free hand. He released my shirt and took my other one. We held on and merely existed there for a glittering, endless instant._

_"When we wake," Baz breathed, "what can I say to make you believe it...?"_

_"Sing to me again."_

_Baz smiled. "Deal." Then he sealed it with a kiss._

_And another and another ..._

_Light flowed out of me and into him, warm and welcoming, and together we created one more star for each kiss. We filled the void until there was the perfect balance of light in the dark. Yet I was greedy. I pulled him closer. Baz hummed against my mouth, and as he crawled into my lap, his sweet sound was cut off with a yelp—_

I jolt awake to find Baz curled up too tight on his bed. He looks like he's in pain.

"Baz?"

He screams and throws himself back against his headboard, looking right fucking terrified.

"Ohfucksorry!" I scramble off his couch.

" _Snow—?!"_

"Yeah, it's just me—"

"What the _fuck_ ," he wheezes, "are you doing in my room?"

"The guest room was haunted or summat so I decided to take my chances in here," I sputter. (I'm also trying not to laugh because the whole thing's a little funny. I've never heard Baz squeal like that before.) (It'd be a _lot_ funny if he weren't just, you know, a victim of kidnapping.)

Baz bristles as I fumble towards his bed. He draws his knees to his chest.

"I'm sorry about scaring you—"

"Go away," he groans. It's then I notice his words are kind of muffled—not just from the way he's hiding his face in his knees. Fuck, spooked his fangs right out, didn't I? (I _knew_ they come out when he's scared! I knew it!)

"You all right?" I sit on the edge of his bed, and he huddles in on himself more.

"Splendid, now fuck off."

I ruffle his hair, which makes Baz release another very un-Baz-like sound. "Just show me already, yeah? I've already seen your fangs in—" _In our dreams._

Baz lifts his head enough to glare at me. "That's not the same," he grumbles.

"Show me." I smooth his hair back into place. "Please...?"

Baz hesitates. Finally, he rolls his eyes and carefully unfolds himself. I lean into his space to see, and he humours me by opening his mouth.

There they are. Two long, gleaming fangs. For _real_.

" _Wicked_."

"You're a complete nightmare...."

I smile. "Something like that."

Baz looks about as sheepish as I feel. He presses his lips together, cheeks puffy around his fangs, and he frowns at something past my shoulder.

"I can't ... sing like this...." He has a bit of a lisp.

My chest squeezes. "Y-you—you don't have to sing."

"I need you to believe me."

"I ... um. I do."

"You don't."

"Yeah, I _do_ ," I grunt and shove his knee. Baz jerks away, biting back a whimper. "Fuck—are you okay?"

"I'm fine," he says through his teeth.

"Are you in pain?" I crowd him some more on the bed. "Is that why you woke up?"

Baz waves a dismissive hand. "My hip, it ... twinges sometimes, that's all. Nothing to get worked up over."

"It pulled you out of your sleep—sounds like more than a twinge." I place my hand on his hip, though I'm not sure what good that'll do. Baz tries to bat me away—I don't let him. "Did Fiona's healing spells not help?"

"I think it _is_ healed. It just ... healed _wrong_...."

"That can't be right."

"Are you a vampire doctor?"

"Are _you_?"

Baz sighs and slumps further against the headboard. He looks like all the life's been sucked out of him—way more than usual. The room is mostly dark—the clock reads half-past four—yet I can still see how deathly pale he is. It's hard to look at.... Harder than seeing him cry in the dream. At least there he wasn't holding it all in.

Neither one of us were.

I look down at my hand against his pyjama-clad hip. "Can I try something?"

"Sure," Baz drones, "because your track record with casting spells on me has been so exemplary."

"Shut up, yeah?"

Baz does, tilting his head back and closing his eyes. He must be in a lot of pain if he's allowing me to do this—not that I know what I'm doing, not exactly. In the dream, letting everything spill out seemed to work well, so ...

I close my eyes. I search out that bursting feeling from the dream, deep in my core. All that pressure that's been building up for ages. I imagine it flowing out and filling the empty spots in Baz ...

He gasps, going tense under my touch. I snap open my eyes to see us glowing—my arm is golden, lighting us both up from within as my magic rushes out of my body and into his. All the shadows in the room melt away.

"What are you—? _How_ are you—?"

"I don't know—I just pushed. Is it hurting you?"

"No."

"Should I stop?"

"No!"

I move closer to Baz, grip his hip tighter. His fangs have receded. He's trembling, but he looks excited, so I don't dare stop. I leave the connection open between us, no longer pushing, just letting him take as much as he wants. Baz grabs his wand from under his pillow and points it at his hip.

_**"Jack and Jill went up the hill to fetch a pail of water."** _

He's casting a nursery rhyme—there's nothing more powerful than those. They're rhymes we all learn as kids, get stuck in our brains forever, and are passed down through the generations.

_**"Jack fell down and broke his crown, and Jill came tumbling after."** _

This one is commonly used by mums on their kids, after they've come home from playing outside, all banged up. It takes a lot more magic than **kiss it better** , but it's far more thorough.

_**"Up Jack got and home did trot, as fast as he could caper."** _

It's for bruises and scrapes, though, not something as severe as this. Yet my magic is tearing through both of us, and Baz's hip burns under my touch.

_**"And went to bed, and plastered his head with vinegar and brown paper!"** _

I can't believe him. He’s extraordinary.

Baz sinks against the pillows with a soft sound of relief.

I'm slack-jawed. "B-better?" I ask.

"Better." Then he giggles. "Better than better."

"Okay, I think you've had enough."

Baz whines as I pull back, breaking our connection. The light slowly ebbs away, yet the room doesn't feel as dark now.

"All right...?" I ask, watching Baz try to shake off the buzz from my magic.

"I ... Yeah." He licks his lower lip and gives his head another shake. "I don't know how you did that ... but thank you."

"Me either. Glad it helped and didn't, you know, scorch your leg off."

Baz gives me a crooked smile. "My hero," he says with just enough sincerity for it to make my cheeks heat up. Then he clears his throat and bumps me with his knee. "Out of my way."

"Where are you going?"

"The toilet," he huffs.

I watch Baz head into his en suite. His posture is perfect again—he walks with an easy sort of pride. I sit on his couch and wait for him, bouncing my leg.

I gave him my magic. I've never done that before. I don't think that's supposed to be possible. Baz did the impossible, too, using another mage's magic and casting like he was Houdini himself.

Baz is marvellous.

And he's safe. He's alive. He's here— _I'm_ here.

Baz comes out a few minutes later looking as put together as ever. The fire is back in his eyes. You'd never know he was trapped in a coffin for two weeks.

He gives me a long once-over, and my throat constricts. There's probably something I should say to him.... Instead, I pat the cushion next to me. Baz arches his eyebrow for a thoughtful moment, then he deigns to join me.

This really is Baz. In the flesh. He's giving me his classic imperious look, and it makes me hot all over, same as always. We've been here countless times before, but it has all new meaning. This is a look that makes me want to kiss him—and it's a look that means he's considering kissing me.

Why am I not kissing him?

I grab him by the back of the neck and crush our mouths together.

It's better than any dream. Because it's real. _Finally_. Baz is here, and I'm here, and this is _real_. He's safe. He's mine.

In our dreams, kissing Baz felt like something incomprehensible. This isn't quite like that. It's not a blanket of relief dampening out the world, and it's not some massive Big Bang. It's ... simple. It's a deep sense of completeness throughout all of me, grounding me, in my fingers and toes and the cavity of my chest.

It feels like I've been walking around with a piece of me missing all my life, and now that hole's been filled. We slot together. I'm whole.

I'm _home_.

Baz presses me into the back of the couch and swings a leg over my lap. I slide my hands under his pyjama top, rubbing his waist, feeling his cold skin for the hundredth time, for the first time.

Baz's groan makes my magic rush to the surface again.

I have to break the kiss to calm down and _breathe_. He uses the opportunity to unclasp my cross with trembling fingers. Then I definitely can't breathe. He tosses the necklace to the other side of the room and gives me a searching look. All I can do is nod and nod and pull him back in for another kiss. Fuck breathing. This is the perfect kind of breathless.

"I won't hurt you," he says against my lips.

"I know."

"I've never bitten anyone."

"I know."

We kiss. Lips, cheeks, jaws. Down his neck, down my neck.

Baz's hair is as silky as I imagined. His teeth are less sharp, and his growls are more so. I can't pin down the way he tastes—all I know is I want more of it.

Each of Baz's kisses breaks me apart and puts me back together again.

_I'm home, I'm whole._

"Are you mine?" I ask.

“Did you mean it when you asked me to be?" When I nod, Baz leans back and hits me with a dazzling smile. "Then yes."

I smile right back. "Does that make you happy?"

"More than you can imagine."

I kiss him again.

After a long time, he whispers, "I meant all of it."

All of it ...

Is that possible?

"You love me...?" I whisper back.

Baz tightens his jaw and only nods.

"'For a long time'...?"

Baz rests his forehead against mine, eyes closed. "Yeah...."

I hold on and breathe him in.

"I meant it, also," I manage eventually. "Uh. Well. The good things, anyway. When ... when I wasn't pushing you away."

"Are we done with that now?"

"I am. Are you?"

"Yes."

I lean in, and Baz meets my mouth. We pull each other closer and closer, until there'snothing between us, not even space.

All I've ever wanted is to fill my days with him.

All I've ever wanted is to make sure he's always here, with me. Where no one can hurt him. Where he's safe.

 _All I've ever wanted_ is to keep him connected to me, forever, in every way possible.

Is that too much to ask?

"I don't know what's going to happen with the Mage or the Humdrum," I confess, "but no matter what, I'm never letting you go."

I can't read Baz's expression. "That's a big promise, Snow."

"I know."

"You sound confident."

"I am. I only make promises I can keep," I say, voice steady and sure.

"Prove it," Baz says, voice soft and fervent. "Prove it to me every day ... and every night."

I gulp. My grip on his waist tightens. "I _will_."

We stay like that on Baz's couch, kissing and holding each other, until I've got no choice but to break for a piss. Even that feels like too long to be separated from him. When I come back to the room, Baz has thrown open the curtains. The room is awash in rose gold morning light. For the first time in ages, it's a welcome sight.

I join him at the window, both of us squinting into the sunrise. "Morning already?"

"By your definition, anyway." He turns on his heel and starts pulling clothes out of his closet.

"What are you doing?"

"Getting dressed." He eyes my pyjamas ( _his_ pyjamas) and his mouth twitches briefly. "You should as well."

"What for?"

Baz lays jeans (jeans?) and a posh jumper onto his bed, assessing. "We'll have some breakfast, then hit the road."

"Where are we going?"

Baz gives me a weary look. "To Watford, you twit."

I blink, taking a minute. (I'm still stuck on the promise of breakfast.) (And Baz in jeans.) "We're going back today? Right away?"

"Why not? I'm in pristine condition, thanks to that magic trick of yours."

"Right...." I pat my stomach thoughtfully.

Baz sighs and heads for his bedroom door, tugging it open. "Let's get you fed," he says. I notice the shy droop of his lashes as he hesitates in the doorway, one hand outstretched for me. "All right?"

I stare at Baz, standing there with his tousled hair and rumpled pyjamas—all from my hands. His mouth is well-snogged, and his skin is flushed with magic and sunlight. He's a radiant mess. And so fucking _solid_. My heart throbs.

I set my hand in his. It's the realest thing I've ever felt. He's more real than I can bear.

"All right," is all I manage around the lump in my throat.

Baz squeezes my hand. "Or would you rather sleep more first...?"

I shake my head. I can't stop smiling.

"No," I say. "I'm wide awake."

☼

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ☀ Thank you so much for reading! ☀  
> I sincerely appreciate all the wonderful comments, support, and enthusiasm! And extra big thanks to my beta team (my husband, [tbazzsnow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artescapri/pseuds/tbazzsnow), and [aralias](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aralias), [names_for_dusk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/names_for_dusk)), [imhellakitty](https://imhellakitty.tumblr.com/) for the stunning art, and my Discord server pals who tuned in regularly for my live-readings of the chapters 🖤

**Author's Note:**

> If you're so inclined, check out the fic playlist: **[I linger till dawn, dear](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2c9tIcdLOrBW3oLCn9NrA5?si=KXJEneD5RXKvWb9JYUXmsA)**  
>  Updating every 2 to 3 days 🖤


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